


Dark Directed

by fearthainn



Series: Dark Directed [1]
Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-05-09
Updated: 2004-05-08
Packaged: 2017-10-06 01:37:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 116,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearthainn/pseuds/fearthainn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A chance encounter tangles Ginny Weasley's life with that of the most unlikely of people--Draco Malfoy</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a little one-off Ficmas story. Then it got big and developed a plot of its own, and now it's...well, it's a big story with a more complicated plot. And it's not a Ficmas. Many thanks to everyone who looked over this for me, particularly SWMF, who emerged triumphant in the Great Comma War of '03.
> 
> This fic was written pre-OOTP, so some parts of it contradict what happens in canon. I've tried to edit portions to reflect this, but certain things cannot really be changed without messing with the premise of the story. So please excuse any canonical errors, and consider this an AU.

_WHEN most I wink, then do mine eyes best see_  
For all the day they view things unrespected;  
But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee,  
And darkly bright, are bright in dark directed.  
Then thou, whose shadow shadows doth make bright,  
How would thy shadow's form form happy show  
To the clear day with thy much clearer light,  
When to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so!  
How would, I say, mine eyes be blessed made  
By looking on thee in the living day,  
When in dead night thy fair imperfect shade  
Through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth stay!  
All days are nights to see till I see thee,  
And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.  
\- Sonnet XLIIL, William Shakespeare

~*~

It started with the book.

The book showed up in Ginny's cauldron at the beginning of her first year, an innocent blank journal tattered and bruised with age, with the words "T. M. Riddle" stamped on the cover and an incalculable evil lurking in its pages. Had she known about Tom at the time she never would have written in it, but she was a child and her parents didn't tell those sorts of stories to their children. Dumbledore said no one really knew about Tom Riddle and who he later became; it was a well-kept secret, one that seemed terribly wrong to keep, in Ginny's mind.

Ginny knew a thing or two about secrets. She used to be an open little girl, talkative and outgoing, but that changed when she met Tom. One of the things Tom showed her was how to keep secrets. She learned about having things to hide; at first the things that Tom had made her do, and later, her true thoughts and feelings, behind a mask of calm. Tom had taught her a lesson, and she'd learned it well.

After her first year was over, her parents and brothers gratefully forgot about the whole incident, but Ginny never did. She simply didn't bring it up, seeing it was easier for everyone if she didn't mention it, if her family thought there were no lasting consequences. All her brothers—Percy, the twins, even Ron—seemed to think that she wasn't old enough for secrets, even though for her whole first year she'd had the biggest one of all. Harry had solved the mystery, but she had held the answer in her heart for eight long months. And he had stayed in her heart, deeper than anyone knew—that was just one of her secrets.

The nightmares were another. They started up right after Ginny's third year; that was the year that Harry entered the Tri-Wizard tournament and very nearly ended up dead, the year He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named returned, the year the real terror began. It was as though before You-Know-Who came back, Tom had lain dormant. But now he had returned with a vengeance, and Ginny sometimes woke up two and three times a night in a cold sweat, gasping and shivering, the echo of a smooth voice in her ears, the feel of a scratchy quill and grainy paper under her fingers.

The first time it happened she had crawled out of bed and down the hall to curl up in Bill's bed, and let his warm bulk and the sound of his breathing lull her back to sleep. Ginny woke up before him to creep quietly back to her own bed, and Bill gave her a small hug at breakfast and didn't mention it to anyone. It started to be a habit for her: whenever she had one she'd go bunk with one of her brothers and be back in her own bed in the morning with Mum and Dad none the wiser. Thankfully she had a lot of brothers, and she didn't think any of them caught on to how often she needed the security of another presence in order to sleep at night.

Ginny did a special project about night terrors for Defense Against The Dark Arts class in fourth year to see if she could find a way to stop the nightmares, but never managed to find one. Professor Delacour gave her top marks on her essay on the subject and Dad was full of praise for her grasp of DADA, but praise, however gratifying, didn't _help_. Ginny eventually accepted that the dreams were simply something she had to live with, a remnant of the ugliness of her first year that she wouldn't—couldn't—talk about. She learned spells to place on her curtains at school so that she wouldn't disturb the other girls in her dormitory, and taught herself to make a tiny light that would burn all night, so she'd never wake up in the dark.

It was because of the nightmares that she was feeling weary and drained; probably not the best way to begin her first day of fifth year at Hogwarts, but there was little to be done about it. The dreams were always worst on the first day back to school. Her trunk was packed and settled at the foot of the stairs, next to Ron's and Harry's and Hermione's. Ron's friends had come to stay the last few days before start of term, and they were all traveling together to King's Cross to catch the Hogwarts Express.

"Ginny! Ginny, come down and eat!" Mum's voice rose up the stair, and Ginny set a bookmark in her Muggle Studies text, dragged herself off her bed and went down to the kitchen.

Ron, Harry and Hermione were already there, and Ginny slid into an empty chair beside Ron and helped herself to a slice of toast. "Morning, Mum," she said as a helping of scrambled eggs appeared on her plate.

"Good morning, dear. You look tired...didn't you sleep well?"

"I slept fine, Mum." Ginny smiled at her mother's concerned glance. "Just—you know. School."

Mum accepted the deflection and reached over to whack Ron's hand—he'd been reaching for one of the toast slices resting on the edge of Harry's plate.

"You're not looking forward to the new year?" Hermione asked. She had a book tucked between her mug and the edge of her plate, and was reading it page by page between talking to Ron and Harry. "I can't wait. We get to start on all sorts of interesting new subjects this year."

"Yes, but you're mad," Ron said. "Utterly barking." He hooted with laughter as Hermione threatened him with her fork.

Ginny smiled and settled into her scrambled eggs, listening to Ron, Harry and Hermione chatter with half an ear. Ron and Harry stopped harassing Hermione in favour of talking about the upcoming Quidditch season at Hogwarts. Ron had made the team last year as a keeper, replacing Oliver Wood, and he and Harry had been planning game strategy all summer long, often rallying Ginny, Hermione and whatever brothers happened to be available into running through their ideas in the air.

"Well, we've got to get going if we want to make it to the station on time," Mum said as Ginny finished her breakfast. She snatched Ron's playbook out of his hands and picked up Hermione's text, closing them both and handing them back to their respective owners. "You'll have hours on the train to plan Quidditch strategies and if we miss it, I don't know _how_ you'll get to school, with your father already at work. Come along."

The trip to King's Cross was uneventful, and soon they were milling around on Platform 9 3/4 with the other Hogwarts students. Ginny greeted her friends Colin and Zoë happily, and hugged them both as Ron, Harry and Hermione met up with their house-mates.

"We should go find ourselves a compartment," Zoë said earnestly—Zoë tended to do everything earnestly. Shorter than Ginny, with mouse-brown hair, she was a half-Muggle Gryffindor from Wales and a good friend to both Ginny and Colin. "We don't want to have to share with some Slytherins or something."

They ended up in a compartment near the end of the train, with Colin's friend Sanjeet and little brother Dennis, playing Exploding Snap and talking about the year ahead—Zoë and Ginny were both taking Arithmancy and Muggle Studies, so they compared summer assignments and shared horror stories about Professor Vector's homework until the train reached Hogwarts station.

~*~

In another compartment, Draco Malfoy sighed and rested his forehead against the cool glass of the window, staring out at the rolling hills of Northumbria as the Hogwarts Express wound its way toward the school. His parents had seen him off with the usual warnings about being careful and only talking to the right people and the importance of maintaining the appearance of civility to Harry Potter. Mother had once again denied his request to transfer to Durmstrang, saying she couldn't bear having him so far away, not that she ever did more than send him candy or the occasional book anyway. It infuriated Draco. He was _sick_ of Hogwarts, bored with the idiotic charade his father insisted on, tired of waiting for things to happen—the promised war, his promised place as a Death Eater, getting _out_ of this stupid school and dealing with these stupid people.

And right on cue Crabbe and Goyle showed up, shoving into the compartment and taking up too much room, grunting in their dull voices about terrorizing the firsties. Draco rolled his eyes and ignored them utterly; he traced a lazy pattern in the condensation on the window and sighed again. _Only two more years,_ he thought, _this one and the next, and then I'm done with this stupidity. I can get on with real life._

Real life seemed a long way off today, with the slow chugging of the train setting the tone for the whole day. Sluggish, tedious, with nothing in sight to break the endless monotony. He couldn't even go bother Potty and the Weasel to amuse himself—Father had made it perfectly clear this year that he wasn't to go around making more of an enemy of Potter than Potter already was. Their position right now was too delicate for 'childish games', so Draco was deprived of one of his few sources of amusement until Father lifted the ban. No getting Potty in trouble, no tormenting his ridiculous friends, no harassing Hagrid, no trying to get anyone expelled or fired or even detention. It was going to be a long and boring year. Draco understood the reasons behind Father's decision, but faced with the prospect of spending 6 hours in a compartment with no one but Crabbe and Goyle for entertainment—and then a whole year at Hogwarts with more of same—the restriction chafed.

"I'm bored," Crabbe rumbled after a while. "Can we go find something to do, Draco?"

"I'm not stopping you, am I?" Draco snapped. He didn't bother to lift his head from the window. "Just remember what I told you about bothering Potter. If you do, I'll get in trouble with Father."

Crabbe and Goyle lumbered off, leaving Draco to his brooding. All through last year, Draco had been deathly excited; the Dark Lord had returned, things were changing, and despite Potter's continued existence, life was good, for the most part. A few setbacks after fifth year, with Father being sent to Azkaban until he managed to convince the Ministry to let him out...nothing that couldn't be overcome. But then, nothing had happened. And nothing kept happening, all summer long. At least, nothing that Father would tell him about. Draco got the sense that Father was keeping things from him, hiding the real details of what Lord Voldemort was doing out of some sort of desire to protect Draco until he felt Draco was ready. Draco couldn't prove it, but he could sense it happening. He was being excluded and it was infuriating.

Draco sighed again and rolled his forehead against the window. This year was going to be _horrid_. Just _horrid_. Dull and boring, and _nothing_ was going to be any fun, and he'd probably spend the whole year losing to that stupid four-eyed git at Quidditch and it'd just be one more thing he'd have to justify to Father. Draco was already in a foul mood, and the year hadn't even really begun.

~*~

Ginny slid into the seat next to Zoë at the Gryffindor table, craning her neck to see over Colin and his friend Sanjeet. "Why'd you boys have to sit right there?" she joked. "I can't see the firsties."

"Not that it matters," Colin said. "No new Weasleys this year. Just think of the poor teachers, year after next, when they'll have none of you gingers in their classes!"

Zoë laughed. "They'll probably be thanking their lucky stars! After a decade of her brothers?"

"Oh, they're not that bad," Ginny said, staunchly defending her family name. "We're just...high spirited."

"That's one way to put it," Colin smiled. Ginny was saved from more teasing as the other girls in her year, Adrienne and Shelley, descended on their seats in a giggling wave. The Welcoming Feast was punctuated by bits of gossip and tales of how everyone had spent the summer, and Ginny let herself be carried along by the other girls' enthusiasm, swept up to their dormitory amidst enthusiastic talk about boys, Quidditch and the latest hair charms. Ginny was happily exhausted when she finally dropped into her bed and set her charms on the curtains.

The school year began in earnest the following day, as their professors tried to make up for the lost summer months by assigning twice as much homework. Colin, Zoë and Ginny staggered back into the common room that evening loaded down with books and parchments. Colin shouldered his bag onto the nearest table with a resounding thump. "This is insane!" he groaned. "They're trying to kill us!"

"They're not," Ginny said. "This happens every year, and every year you complain about it. It's no more work than we ever get." She slid into the seat across the table and pulled her Transfiguration text out of her bag.

"Says the girl who's taking on an other special project for DADA this year," Colin said to Ginny. "Haven't you got enough to do?"

Ginny shrugged without looking up from her book. "I like it."

"Because you're mad. We've got prep for OWLs already, and Snape's got it in for us this year for potions, you can just tell by the essay he's assigned us already, and you're picking up extra work. You are mad."

"Oh, stop," Zoë said. She poked Colin with her quill. "It'd go quicker if you'd stop complaining and start working."

"Well, I'm going to be busy enough this year without loads of homework! Hey, Gin, I asked Harry if he'd let me take pictures of the team this year, and he said I could. Isn't that brill?" Colin beamed at the prospect.

"That's wonderful, Colin," Ginny said absently. She flipped back and forth through the first chapter of her textbook, looking for the reference she needed for her assignment, only half-listening to Colin and Zoë as they chattered. Colin still hero-worshiped Harry, though he was more subdued about it than he had been in Ginny's first year. It was one of the reasons they'd become friends in the first place, but Ginny's own crush on Harry had faded to a shadow of it's former self. She kept herself too busy to think much about boys.

The first few days back at school were always the hardest, as Ginny readjusted to being back in the castle, settling the memories enough so that they wouldn't bother her. The second night back in the dorm Ginny shut her curtains early, leaving the other girls to their usual late-night chatter about boys and robes. She didn't often take part in those discussions, though she'd usually leave her curtains open and listen in as Adrienne and Shelley dissected their favourite subjects—Ginny just wasn't that interested.

She woke in the night with whispering susurration of massive scales on stone still in her ears, making her dizzy with fright until she identified the noise as the wind from the open window pushing at her curtains. Ginny sighed and sat up in the dark, groping for her wand. There was no way she'd get back to sleep tonight, so she might as well give it up and see if she could get some work done. She pulled on her robe and stuffed her feet into her slippers, tiptoed cautiously across the dorm and slipped out the door.

When she had first arrived back at school, Professor Delacour, the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, had given Ginny a key to the DADA classroom. Ginny had tacit permission to use the room for research or just as a quiet place to study. Professor Delacour had originally come to Hogwarts as a member of the Beauxbatons Triwizard Tournament delegation and had returned in Ginny's fourth year to take over the DADA position. The beautiful young Frenchwoman was the first DADA professor Ginny could remember who'd lasted more than a year. Ginny quite admired her, in fact, and she wasn't the only one. Ron seemed very taken with her, though Hermione had said a great many rude things on the subject when Professor Delacour took the position.

The DADA classroom was one of Ginny's favourite places, full of weird and interesting things from dried out mummy's hands to strange, malformed creatures pickled in neatly-arranged jars. Bookcases and wardrobes lined the walls, full of even more oddities that Professor Delacour used in her lessons. Ginny smiled as she unlocked the door and shut it carefully behind her, inhaling the slightly musty air happily. This place was her refuge, more than any other room in the castle, where she didn't have to be afraid, where she knew she could handle anything. She settled down with her book bag and quills, and set to work on her essay.

That night went quickly, as did the first few months of the year, with only the odd trip to Hogsmeade or Quidditch match to break up the regular monotony of school. Gryffindor was doing well in the Quidditch cup, as usual; Ron's and Harry's incessant strategizing over the summer was paying off, and they hadn't lost a single game. It was nearly Christmas now, and the DADA classroom was quite chilly despite the warming charms Ginny had placed on the bench she was using as her research station. Her project this year was a research paper on vampiric history, and Ginny gratefully wielded it tonight as an excuse to escape Gryffindor Tower and the endless talk of boys and robes and hairstyles that had taken the fifth year girls by storm. She would much rather immerse herself in the history of vampires than sit and listen to Zoë, Adrienne and Shelley bemoan their single status and blather on about hair charms. She liked the other girls, she really did, but she simply couldn't stand that sort of thing on a regular basis. It was so frivolous, worrying about hair charms when You-Know-Who was getting more powerful every day.

Ginny flexed her cramping fingers and closed the book she was taking notes from. She stretched out her back and lifted the heavy book, carrying it back to re-shelve it and choose a new one. Ginny rested her hand on the wardrobe beside the bookcase, standing on her toes to slot the old book carefully into place. Her fingers drifted over the other titles—_Vampires and You, A Revised History of Vampires, Bloodsucking for Fun and Profit!_—Ginny paused and giggled at that one before she drew out Professor Delacour's copy of _The Dance of Dracul_. She returned to her desk and dropped the heavy tome, refreshed her warming charm and settled herself back down to her research. She was so engrossed in her reading that she barely heard the _snick_ of the wardrobe door as it came unlatched, the soft creak as it opened.

It was his voice that turned her attention away from her essay, that voice she knew better than her own. Smooth and strong, as strong as his will, it snaked through the room in a sibilant whisper. "Ginny..."

Ginny thought her heart would stop. Her quill slipped from nerveless fingers as she spun around, rising out of her seat in shock. She stared at the apparition standing in front of Professor Delacour's wardrobe in horror—his fine-boned face, his soft black hair, the deep brown eyes she had once thought held the secrets of the universe, the boy who'd been as much a part of her heart as Harry had, all those years ago. The boy who was the embodiment of her worst nightmares.

This could not be happening.

Ginny stumbled away from the desk, unthinkingly moving to put distance between her and him. Her mouth worked but she couldn't seem to find her voice—it was lost somewhere behind the impossibility of _Tom_, standing here in her safe, normal DADA classroom and calling her name.

"It's been so long since you've written me. So long. I've missed you." Tom took a step forward, one elegant hand rising as though to reach out and caress her hair. "I missed you so much, and you left me all alone." There was the barest hint of anger in that silky voice, the tiniest suggestion of reproach. "Ginny."

Ginny sank to her knees in the aisle, her legs unable to bear her weight. "Please..." She shook her head, scrabbling at the floor in a vain attempt to get away. "Please, no." She couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't breathe, and he was coming closer and closer, just like her dreams, just like the Chamber, and there was nothing she could do to stop him. She could feel her eyes growing heavy just as they had then, no matter how hard she tried to fight it, terrified of what would happen if she took her eyes away from him, even for a moment.

And then a voice cut through her terror, firm and commanding. "_Riddikulus_!"

There was a sharp _crack_, and her eyes flew open as Tom vanished in a cloud of smoke, leaving her half-terrified and half-bereft on her knees in the empty room, blinking up at her rescuer with astonished eyes.

Draco Malfoy.

Who was staring at her with a faintly shocked expression. "_Weasley_?"

Ginny sagged with relief. It was all she could do not to break down completely and launch herself at him, pathetic impulse though it was; she wanted to fling herself on him in gratitude even though she hated him, and he hated her and her brothers and all her family, and would probably rush off to the dungeons to wash her touch from his body if she dared it. As it was, the tears that had threatened from the minute Tom—the boggart—had slid from the cupboard were welling up and spilling down her cheeks. She still couldn't move, couldn't stop shaking long enough to get her feet under her, and Malfoy just stared at her as though she'd gone mad.

"Who the hell was that?" he asked sharply, taking two long steps into the room.

Ginny shook her head, unsure if her voice would even work. She drew one shuddering breath and then another, willing her heart to slow, willing herself to calm. Malfoy frowned impatiently, swaying slightly on his feet as though he were fighting an internal battle, curiosity warring with his desire to just leave her there. Finally he strode toward her and grabbed her by the arms, hauling her bodily to her feet. "I asked you a question, Weasley," he said sharply, giving her a small shake. "Who or _what_ was that?"

She shook her head again, lips moving silently, trying to form words. "Tom," she finally whispered. "Tom." She breathed in deep and let it go slowly, letting the air settle and steady her just as Professor Delacour had taught her. It worked, too; she already felt less wobbly, and she managed to get her feet under her. "It doesn't matter," she said, distantly pleased that her voice wasn't shaking as much. She pulled away inch by inch. "Thank you for getting rid of it."

Malfoy frowned, his long hands tightening on her arms. "It was only a boggart, Weasley," he said contemptuously. "What is it about this 'Tom' that frightened you so badly you couldn't remember the counter-curse? That's something you learn in third year."

Ginny shrugged, her eyes sliding away from his. "It doesn't matter." She backed up another step, so that he had to either let her go or follow.

Malfoy dropped his hands and crossed his arms over his narrow chest, watching her closely as she collected her books from the desk and shoved them into her bag. "Have it your way, Weasley. What are you doing hanging 'round in deserted classrooms, anyway? Get out of here, before I take points from Gryffindor for loitering."

Ginny bit her lip and glanced up at him, his thin mouth marred by an unattractive sneer. She hesitated, torn between feeling grateful for his assistance and wanting to smash his over-bred face for being a bastard—of all the people who could have encountered her paralyzed with fear by a boggart, stuck-up, horrible, _mean_ Malfoy was the very last one she would have chosen. She ducked her head again under the weight of his disapproving gaze and sidled out of the room, fleeing down the hall toward the safety of Gryffindor Tower.

She felt as though his cold eyes were fastened on her all the way there.

~*~

Draco Malfoy didn't know what to think.

He frowned at the library stacks in front of him while he reflected on Weasley's boggart, the same thing he'd been reflecting on since coming across the girl in an empty classroom after supper yesterday. A part of him chastened that he was taking far too great an interest in the stupid thing, that there was no real reason why he should _care_ that the little chit had been terrified out of her mind by a stupid bogeyman, but it was an intriguing subject nevertheless. Far too interesting to pass up, especially as he had precious little else to entertain him since Father's imposed ban on Potter-bashing. The little Weasel wasn't a Potter, after all—not yet, anyway—and he badly wanted to know what it was about that boy that had scared her so thoroughly.

The boy had obviously been a Slytherin prefect, for Draco had caught a glimpse of an oddly striped green tie and a well-polished prefect's badge before he'd blasted the boggart into shreds. The thing was, Draco knew all the Slytherin prefects from his tenure at Hogwarts and Tom, whoever he was, wasn't one of them. At least knowing that the boy was a prefect gave him a place to start looking, and armed with this scrap of knowledge Draco strode further into the stacks toward the place where the old school memorial books were kept and yanked a handful out.

Hours later he was still at it, sitting tailor-fashion on the floor with piles of books around him, heedless of the damage he was doing his trousers. The book he held open on his lap was dated '1945', and staring up at him from the page for Head Boy that year was Weasley's mysterious Tom.

Tom Riddle was his full name, and he _was_ a Slytherin prefect—or had been. He was listed as Head Boy in the 1944/45 school year, which made Draco furrow his brow. How had the little Weasley had managed to encounter a teenaged Tom Riddle, and often enough that he'd be her greatest fear? There wasn't anything in the boy's list of accomplishments, arranged in neat columns below his picture, that bespoke any reason to fear. And the list was impressive. Head Boy, Quidditch captain, awards for special service to the school, honours for top marks, honours for magical merit, honours for everything under the sun, really. By all accounts Tom had been a model student, handsome, brave, upstanding and good. _Much like Potter_, Draco thought, his lip curling. _Wonder why he wasn't in Gryffindor, the goody-goody._

And as though conjured by the thought, Scarhead himself chose that moment to come 'round the corner of the bookshelf and stare down at Draco in astonishment, both his sidekicks peering over his shoulders. Draco stiffened as much as his undignified position allowed and glared at them all. "What are _you_ looking at, Potter?"

"What on earth are you doing, Malfoy?" the mudblood asked, while Potty and the Weasel gaped at him. She was a prefect this year too, and seemed to think it was her right to poke her nose into people's business, just like she was doing now.

"None of your business," he snapped, closing the book on his lap with a thud. He rose to his feet, dusting briefly at his trousers. The three of them exchanged glances, then turned identical sets of wary eyes on him.

The mudblood raised her eyebrows in that supremely irritating holier-than-thou expression and pursed her lips. "Researching anything in particular?" she asked, enunciating her words carefully, as though Draco wouldn't be able to understand her otherwise.

"I wouldn't tell you if I were, _mudblood_," he drawled, and smirked as Potty and the Weasel flushed with predictable rage. The mudblood herself went white and pulled herself up to her full, not-very-impressive height.

"Five points from Slytherin for being a gigantic waste of space, _Malfoy_," she spat.

Draco smiled slowly. It was almost too easy, really, but he certainly couldn't let _that_ slide. He let his eyes drift contemptuously over the curve of her full hips, the swell of her breasts beneath her jumper, and sniffed. "Five points from Gryffindor for precisely the same reason, _Granger_."

It was well worth it. Granger's face crumpled, Potter went white and Draco had to nimbly dodged the pile of books on the floor as the Weasel lunged at him, wrestling his wand out of his tattered robes with an incoherent cry of rage. They were _so_ predictable. Draco danced out of range of the Weasel's fists, readying his wand just in case Potty and the mudblood, who had latched onto the Weasel's arms like limpets, didn't manage to hold the bastard back. Luck was with him today, though; with her usual impeccable timing, Madam Pince rounded the corner of the stacks to tell the Weasel off for making noise. Draco slipped his wand out of sight and smiled as nastily as possible in the background as the trio got booted from the library.

He dusted at his trousers again and apologized charmingly to Madam Pince, who muttered and scowled at the books on the floor, but desisted when he offered to help her re-shelve them. Draco had learned over the last year or so that the old adage 'you catch more flies with honey' held true, and he tried to cultivate good relations with the few professors who weren't hopelessly bent against Slytherin. In fact...

"Madam, I was wondering if perhaps you'd be able to help me with a small project I'm researching," Draco began, flashing her another integrating smile. "I'm looking for information on an old Hogwarts student. Tom Riddle."

Madam Pince blinked at him, tilting her head to one side. "Tom Riddle? Never heard of him."

"I hadn't either, actually, but I'm writing an essay on Hogwarts Prefects for extra credit in History of Magic, and thought I'd choose him," Draco lied. "He was an exceptional student, but unfortunately all I've found of him is this school memorial book. I was interested in knowing what he's done since he graduated, since he seems to have vanished from the public eye."

Predictably, Madam Pince lit up at this evidence of scholarship, and beckoned Draco to follow her back to the reference desk. "Well, there are several books we can look at..."

Draco nodded in all the right places and left the library armed with a mountain of books with which to start his search. He ensconced himself in a wingback chair in the common room with a mug of tea and a pile of chocolate frogs, and snarled at anyone who dared ask what he was doing. This Tom Riddle business would probably be good fodder for attacks on the whole lousy group of Gryffindors, if he ever got the chance again; the whole thing reeked of complex magic and he was going to solve the little Weasel's mystery if it was the last thing he did.

~*~

It took Ginny longer than she thought it would to regain her equilibrium after the incident. A whole day later, and she was still shaky and nervous, jumping at shadows and unable to concentrate. She'd slept terribly the night before, couldn't pay attention in her classes, and had Zoë and Colin convinced she was ill. Ginny finally resorted to a long, hot shower and an extended lounge in front of the common room fire with an embarrassingly trashy romance novel, losing herself in what Hermione dubbed 'brain candy' in order to avoid thinking about the encounter with Tom. And with Malfoy—Ginny couldn't quite decide which was worse. Having Malfoy know her deepest fear was practically an engraved invitation to teasing—he _still_ trotted out the old saw about Harry and dementors whenever he could, and just last year Malfoy had deliberately dumped a live spider down Ron's shirt because he knew Ron was afraid of them.

Ginny glanced up from her book as Ron, Harry and Hermione stormed into the common room, looking like thunderclouds. Ron was muttering to them, the occasional loud, heated phrase making it clear that they'd had another run-in with Malfoy. An uneasy spike of nervousness shot through her, and Ginny wondered if it would be too obvious of her to move closer in order to hear what had happened. She desperately hoped that Malfoy hadn't used her encounter with the boggart against her brother. She didn't really want Ron or Harry to know that Tom was still her greatest fear, four years on; she could just imagine what Ron would say about it. Ginny bit her lip and watched as Ron alternated between red-faced rage and obvious solicitousness over Hermione, who seemed dreadfully upset.

Seamus came through the portrait hole then and solved Ginny's problem for her. "What's wrong, Ron?" he asked loudly, flopping down on the empty couch next to Ginny's chair. "You look mad enough to spit nails."

"It's Malfoy of course. Who else?" Ron replied heatedly. "He insulted Hermione in the library today, the bloody sod. Somebody ought to break his slimy face for him, teach him a lesson!"

Seamus made an appropriate noise of sympathy and agreement, and Ginny breathed an inaudible sigh of relief. Malfoy must not have said anything about her after all.

Ron continued to grumble as Hermione calmed back to her normal, logical self. "I don't know how Malfoy can live with himself," she said. "He's so nasty all the time, you'd think he wouldn't have any friends at all. I wonder what he was doing in there anyway."

"Hanging about and waiting for the chance to be a huge git, most likely," Ron muttered.

"He was looking at the school memorial books," Harry said suddenly. "The old ones, from the '40s." He and Ron and Hermione exchanged significant looks, while Seamus and Ginny looked on, bewildered by the non sequitor.

"But how could he know?" Hermione asked practically. "I mean, it isn't as if he knows about—"

"Well, his dad might have told him," Ron replied. "After all, he's the one who had it."

Hermione nodded thoughtfully, and they all exchanged those looks again.

Seamus turned to look at Ginny. "Do _you_ have a clue what they're talking about?"

Ginny returned Seamus's integrating grin faintly and shook her head. But it was a lie...she _did_ know, in this case. Of course she knew. How could she not?

They were talking about Tom.

Talking about him as though she wasn't right there, as though they couldn't just turn around and ask her about him. Ginny watched as the three of them piled out of the common room, apparently intent on going back to the Library to find out exactly what Malfoy had been researching. She felt a stab of jealousy as the portrait swung shut behind them; she could guess what he'd been looking for, guess what they would find if they went looking for his research subject. She bit down on the urge to follow and stop them, to find Malfoy and tell him to leave off. _He's mine_, she thought, resentment curling in the pit of her stomach. _Tom was mine first. He was _my_ friend, what can you hope to find out about him from some dusty old books? I knew him best._

"Ginny?"

She whipped her head around; Seamus was looking at her worriedly. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine," she said quickly. "Just—you know." She waved a vague hand at the portrait. "Think I'll go upstairs, finish my book and head off to bed. G'night!" She smiled brightly at the bewildered Seamus, and fled the common room.

The next morning at breakfast, Ron, Harry and Hermione were huddled together whispering to one another—nothing new, but this time Ginny had a good idea of what was going on, and she didn't like it one bit. They kept casting dark looks in the direction of the Slytherin table, where Draco Malfoy was sitting with a large book ostentatiously propped up in front of his goblet. Every so often he would glance at the trio and smirk nastily, slowly turning a page as he did so.

Ginny bit her lip in frustration. He was researching things about Tom, she _knew_ he was, the horrible wanker. Of course he'd think it would be something to use against Harry and her brother, never mind that it had been _her_ encounter with the boggart that had led Malfoy to Tom in the first place. Though why he'd have to research anything was beyond her. One owl to his father would give him anything he ever wanted to know.

"Er, Gin?"

Ginny jerked her head around and stared at Colin. He blinked owlishly back at her, a worried expression on his face. She had the uncomfortable feeling he'd been saying her name for a while. "You feeling all right?"

She looked down at her hand, which was clenched around her fork so tightly she was amazed she hadn't bent the utensil. She made herself uncurl her fingers, one by one. "I'm fine."

Colin looked skeptical, but he let it drop. "Come on, then, we've got Muggle Studies. We'd better go."

Ginny nodded and followed Colin and Zoë to the main entrance of the Great Hall. Neither Ron, nor Harry, nor Hermione looked up as they passed, which wasn't really surprising. They were like that when they thought they were on to something, and all their attention was focused on Malfoy right now anyway.

Malfoy, who was watching _her_.

He smirked at her, the nasty, smug smile he usually reserved for Harry, and gave her a little wave. Ginny turned her head sharply, aware she was blushing furiously, and stared at Colin's back. She sagged in relief when they made it out into the Entrance hall, where she didn't feel as though Malfoy's eyes were drilling a hole in her back.

"Ginny, are you _sure_ you're all right?" Zoë asked. "You look pale."

"I'm fine," Ginny insisted. "I really am."

Zoë didn't look as though she believed that, but she too let it slide. "So long as you're sure. We're doing television in Muggle Studies today...have you read about them yet?"

"Oh, yes, of course. And I've even seen one. Hermione showed one to me and Ron last summer. Dad was thrilled." Ginny summoned up a genuine smile, and let Zoë and Colin drag her off to class, grateful to have something to focus on that wasn't Tom, or boggarts, or Malfoys.

But Malfoy didn't want to _stay_ unnoticed. Ginny thought he'd give up if he didn't find anything out immediately, but he didn't. He just kept on digging around in the library and _watching_ her. Not all the time, granted, since she didn't exactly have many classes with the sixth-year Slytherins. But every time she was in the Great Hall or the library, in the halls or going to and from the Quidditch pitch, if Draco Malfoy were within sight his cold, gray eyes stayed fixed on her.

In a way, just being observed that way was even more nerve-wracking than out-and-out teasing. Ginny felt as though she were under constant surveillance, just waiting for Malfoy to find what he was looking for and attack her. Ignoring him didn't work, and trying to stare him down only resulted in Colin and Zoë teasing her so mercilessly that she worried Ron might notice. There seemed to be nothing she could do about it but try to avoid doing anything too embarrassing in public and hoping no one twigged to Malfoy's sudden interest in her.

Ginny took to coming late for meals and leaving early. She sat with her back to the Slytherin table so she wouldn't have to watch Malfoy watching her, and spent her off-hours in the common room studying for her OWLs or working on projects. If Zoë and Colin noticed her growing more reserved, they didn't mention it. She'd always been fairly reserved, since Tom.

Ron, for his part, didn't notice at all, too caught up in whatever scrape Harry had dragged his two best friends into this year. Hermione spent half the time frantic with worry over her NEWTS; they weren't for another year, but Hermione had never let a little thing like that stop her from fretting about tests. Ginny viewed the approaching summer with a feeling of intense relief—with luck, Malfoy would forget about their meeting, and next year could go on without this endless scrutiny.

~*~

Draco carted the books Madam Pince had lent him around for the greater part of a week, watching with amusement as Potter and his sidekicks haunted the school memorial section of the library and spied on him. Whatever it was about Tom Riddle, they obviously knew _something_, and his interest in the subject was driving them batty. Draco took an unholy delight in poring thoughtfully over the texts he'd borrowed, furrowing his brow and jotting down copious notes whenever they were around, simply to see them squirm. And it not only bothered Potter and his sidekicks, but to the little Weasel too, who stared at him with wide, frightened eyes whenever she thought no one was looking. Draco made a point of watching her back whenever he could, just because it was such a delight to observe her fear.

Unfortunately, the books Draco was consulting left a lot to be desired in terms of information about Riddle—whoever the boy was, he hadn't exactly left a mark on the wizarding world. Was Riddle a previously unmentioned Hogwarts ghost? Was he a former student gone bad? Had one of Potter's ridiculous scrapes of previous years involved Tom in some way? It seemed that the longer Draco looked, the further he got from any definitive answer. The Hogwarts Library, which carried books on every subject under the sun and was the repository for the memoirs of every witch or wizard who ever set quill to parchment—or so it seemed—was remarkably deficient when it came to one Tom Riddle. Clearly, drastic measures would have to be resorted to once he returned home.

And so Draco kept up his hunt for knowledge into the sticky heat of summer, poring over the endless Dark Arts books in the Manor library in search of scraps of information to add to his collection. He was getting quite good at researching, really, but dogged determination and the famed Malfoy collection could only go so far.

And in this case, it wasn't far enough. Draco lay on his bed with the last of the books open before him, frowning down at the dusty page. He'd gone through every book he could think of, and was still barely closer to an answer than he had been at the end of the school year.

Draco slammed his current tome shut in frustration and rolled onto his back, blowing out a noisy breath. He stared into the darkness of the canopy above his bed, pondering what to do next in order to solve this mystery. Scholarship was getting him nowhere, obviously, and he didn't think Father would take very kindly to extending Draco's allowance to cover mail-order of expensive and obscure history volumes from the Continent without a full explanation of why he wanted them. And although he felt sure his father would back his project if he were told about it, this was something Draco wanted to do on his own.

Although.... Draco rolled back over and looked at his notes again. It was clear that Tom Riddle had left Hogwarts in 1945, traveled to the Continent—and vanished. But he knew from bouts of tedious family history that Father had _started_ at Hogwarts in 1944.

Which meant that Father would have had to know Tom Riddle personally.

He would have to pick his time carefully, wait until Father was in a good mood, then ask what he wanted to know. There was no guarantee that his father would tell him anything, but Draco would bet galleons to gargoyles that his father _knew_. After all, Father had started at Hogwarts a year before Tom finished, so he had to know _something_ about the boy.

And as Draco was learning, knowledge was power.

His opportunity came just before the end of July—Father was mellow and quiet over dinner, a sure sign of a good mood. He retired to his study after the meal, and Draco waited half an hour longer, time enough for Father to have his first glass of brandy, before he went down to ask. Draco stopped in front of the solid oak door, inhaled deeply to steady himself, and knocked.

After a long moment, a voice from within said, "Come." Draco let out his breath in a whoosh and slowly pushed the heavy door open. He let it fall shut behind him and moved to stand in front of Father's desk. There were two chairs, heavy, leather wingbacks set in front of the desk, and Draco stood between them. He didn't sit down; he hadn't been invited.

Father was lounging in his chair, everpresent cane to one side, holding his brandy glass up to the firelight and watching the reflection of the crystal filtered through the golden brown liquid—it was almost exactly the colour of Ginny's eyes, Draco realized, and the unbidden thought startled him so much he almost missed his father's sharp question. "What do you want?"

Draco dragged his attention back to where it should be. "Who was Tom Riddle?" he asked steadily, and waited, cringing inwardly as his father went utterly still and his hopes for an answer died. The silence was so complete that Draco felt he could hear the stones of the Manor settling into the earth. Finally, Father's elegant head turned imperceptibly, and his fingers flexed on his cane.

"Why?"

A question Draco had anticipated. "We've been assigned a special project for History of Magic class, to do research on a former Hogwarts student. He seemed like a good choice," he said glibly.

Father turned to look at him full on, the lazy, dangerous eyes drifting over him. "Did he indeed."

"Yes, sir," Draco said. He was thankful for the long sleeves on his robes—he was afraid the slight trembling in his fingers might give his nervousness away. "Apparently he was a popular and intelligent student, a Slytherin, but he seemed to have vanished after he graduated. In 1945." _So you would have known him personally,_ he didn't add.

"Why not choose a different prefect. I'm sure there are others who are easier subjects." Father's mouth twitched in a faint smile. "I was one."

"Yes sir, but I didn't think it would be wise to do this project on family," Draco replied. "Information about Riddle might be scarce, but that will make it clear I've done more work and better research."

"Indeed." Father turned to face him fully, his steel grey eyes pinning Draco. "I think you should pick a different student for this...project of yours. There is nothing about Tom Riddle that is of any interest to you."

"But sir—."

"What did I just say, boy?" With a cold flash of eyes, Lucius raised his cane and pointed it at Draco. "Out!"

Draco fled, barely making it through the heavy oak door before it shut hard on his heels.

So much for _that_.

*

The rest of the summer went by in a slow blur of luncheons and lawn parties, packed with Father's friends buzzing with all the things they loved to gossip about. Who was under suspicion from the Ministry, what the Dark Lord was rumoured to be doing, who had lost a fortune at the gaming tables because they couldn't hold their liquor. Even Draco's peers were caught up in the same sorts of gossip, focused on their own small circle. It was on a balmy afternoon midway through August that Draco leaned against the balustrade of the balcony, looked out over the Manor lawn covered with a sparkling carpet of the best and brightest of Wizarding society, and realized that he was bored out of his skull.

Pansy, who was leaning beside him trying to look alluring and fresh—difficult, since she was wearing a frothy yellow confection that made her look like an under-baked cake—was simpering and chattering on about something inconsequential. Draco had tuned her out long ago and was passing the time by counting the gargoyles on the outside of the Manor, just to have something to do. What he _wanted_ to do was sneak back up to his room and immerse himself in his new book. He had research notes to go over, and the book he'd ordered from Borgin and Burke's behind Father's back looked promising. And Draco would have done it, except Father was sure to notice if he left the party this early. It would look too suspicious. So he stayed, leaning against the balcony and sipping at chilled pumpkin juice, watching the swirl of colour as the guests wandered the lawn beneath him. He was idly wondering if there was a way he could contact the Ministry in France to find out if he could get apparition records from the late '40s when Pansy poked him in the ankle with the toe of her shoe.

"What?" he demanded, yanking his head around to glare at her. Pansy, her yellow robes wilting in the muggy heat, glared right back.

"I _said_ aren't you going to at least dance with me _once_. _Honestly_ Draco, you'd think you weren't even paying _attention_!"

"I wasn't," he drawled. "And I've no intention of dancing." Draco smirked as Pansy's face fell, torn between fury and hurt. She stomped her foot like a child, pouting in a very unbecoming fashion.

"You're _supposed_ to be paying attention to _me_. Not staring out at the gardens like some _imbecile_." She stopped short, flushinga deep pink as Draco turned his head to her and she realized what she'd said. "Oh, Draco, I'm sorry! I didn't mean it!" She reached forward to clutch at his arm, crowding him into the balustrade in her effort to make her apology sound as sincere as possible. "You _know_ I didn't mean it!"

"I'm sure you didn't," Draco said, shaking her off his arm. "And I'm also sure you'll understand if I decide not to partner you in the dancing. Go bother someone else for a change."

Pansy slunk away with a hurt, angry expression, and the next time Draco spotted her, she was dancing with Blaise Zabini, who looked insufferably smug. Pansy kept shooting arch looks in Draco's direction; he guessed he was supposed to be upset that he'd lost her favour. Draco smirked back at her and retreated to the Manor library when Father wasn't looking, glad to be out of it.

Draco hadn't made much progress by the time school began again, but he did manage to smuggle a few books in under Father's nose. He had one with him today for the train journey to Hogwarts; it should go by quickly, with something interesting to do. Ignoring Pansy's whine for attention was easy enough, and Crabbe and Goyle were off somewhere, so Draco spent the whole trip engrossed in his book. It didn't really have anything to say about Tom Riddle, but the subject was fascinating enough on its own. He hadn't known that wizarding history was so _dark_. Not just He Who Must Not Be Named, but Grindelwald and Morgana and a whole other slew of dark witches and wizards stretching back as far as wizarding history did. It made for some chilling reading.

He was so engrossed that he barely noticed when Pansy left, in a huff about something or other, and it took him totally by surprise when there came a sharp knock on the compartment door. Draco jerked and looked up, scowling. "Hullo," said Blaise Zabini. The black-haired boy was lounging against the door frame, one eyebrow raised in an echo of Draco's own favourite expression.

"Zabini. What do you want?"

"Just thought I'd stop by to visit." Blaise moved into the compartment and sat in the seat opposite, lounging in much the same way Draco was. Draco eyed him with amusement, wondering how long the other boy had been copying his mannerisms.

"Well, I'm not very good company. I'm reading." Draco flicked one hand dismissively, noting the way Blaise's eyes followed the motion. No doubt the other boy would be off in a toilet somewhere within minutes, practicing Draco's elegant turn of wrist. Draco smirked at the thought and returned to his book, scanning for where he'd left off.

Blaise made an impatient noise. "What are you _looking_ for, Malfoy? You've been neck-deep in whatever little project you're working on since before the summer. What could possibly be so interesting?"

"None of your business, Zabini," Draco said. "Now go bother someone else."

The other boy's dark eyes narrowed. "Well, I hope whatever it is is worth what you're giving up."

Draco looked up at Blaise, genuinely surprised. "Giving up? What am I giving up?"

"You know, Malfoy," Blaise sneered. "Nothing's ever hard for you, is it? You just get everything you want, and expect people to just go along with you. Well it's not going to happen forever. _Some_ people are going to stop going with you if you don't bother to notice them once in a while."

Draco paused while he processed Blaise's words. "People are going to stop—wait. Zabini, is this about _Pansy_?" The other boy's tight expression was all the answer Draco needed. He laughed incredulously. "You mean, if I don't pay attention to her, she'll go away? Oh, what a _pity_." He laughed again at the sheer absurdity. Pansy was a nosy little hanger-on and always had been, desperate for approval and sulky and petulant when she didn't get it. The only reason Draco put up with her at all was because Father expected it.

Zabini bristled visibly, sitting up a little straighter. "She's a perfectly respectable girl, Malfoy, and she's got an excellent family."

"Yes, yes, she's got impeccable breeding and they're well off and all that," Draco said glibly. "Tell you what. Since I feel like being generous, I cede the field to you. You're welcome to Pansy and her excellent pedigree, so long as the lot of you _leave me alone_."

To Draco's infinite relief, Zabini took him up on his suggestion and retreated from the compartment, presumably to go in search of Pansy and tell her the good news. Draco went back to his book, only to be forced to set it aside 10 minutes later as the train pulled in to Hogwarts Station.

There was the usual scrum for carriages before the trip up to the castle, and the rush to the feast and Sorting in the Great Hall, which Draco watched with an air of jaded amusement. Once the thrill of glaring at the new Slytherin firsts had worn off, he set to examining the Hall, checking to see who was here and who wasn't. Some of the younger Slytherins had left Hogwarts for Durmstrang, but Potter and his cronies were still holding court at the Gryffindor table. Not that they'd have gone anywhere—after all, Potter didn't have anywhere else to go, and Draco doubted he or Weasley had the stones for Durmstrang. Draco glared at the back of Potter's head for a moment before letting his eyes drift down the table...and stop to rest upon the fiery red curls of Ginny Weasley.

Draco frowned at her, the familiar frustration at his lack of answers rising up again as he watched the girl pick at her food. She had her chin propped in her hand, her elbow resting on the table in a shocking display of bad manners. It was as though her family couldn't be bothered to uphold even the slightest shred of decency in public. Not that they had any appearances to maintain, of course, so perhaps it wasn't surprising that the girl didn't even try.

Something one of her ill-bred friends was saying made Ginny look up, and her tired eyes met Draco's across the hall. She ducked her head quickly, sinking lower in her chair as though ashamed to be looking at him. Draco smirked and went back to his meal. At least the little upstart knew her place. He wasn't going to bother watching her this year, not with enough research material to find out who Tom Riddle was on his own. He didn't need someone like _her_ to tell him anything.

It didn't take long to get back to a normal schedule—Transfiguration with the Hufflepuffs, Charms with the Ravenclaws, Care of Magical Creatures and Potions with the Gryffindors. Potter and Weasley were as irritating as ever, but Father hadn't lifted the ban on teasing them and Draco was limited to sneering when they did things wrong. One advantage of spending his summer studying was that he was getting better grades, so Father would be pleased about that at least. He needed _something_ for Father to be happy about; Draco had gotten a scathing letter from Father and a tear-stained one from Mother regarding his treatment of Pansy on the train. He didn't know why they were so concerned about her anyway. Good breeding notwithstanding, Draco couldn't stand Pansy for more than an hour at a time, and if his parents thought they could persuade him to ask for her, they were sorely mistaken.

Draco said as much to Crabbe and Goyle one day as they were leaving Transfiguration. "Can you imagine being forced to listen to her non-stop, with no way to escape? It'd be a fate worse than death." Crabbe and Goyle just grunted; Draco didn't know why he even bothered talking to them at all, except that sometimes it was nice to hear his own voice. God knew _they_ weren't good for scintillating conversation. The two boys were like rocks—always there, but not necessarily something you had to pay attention to.

"Malfoy! Malfoy! Hey, Malfoy?"

Draco stopped so abruptly that Goyle nearly stumbled into him and looked down at the hand tugging at his robes. The owner of the hand, a short third-year Slytherin named Walter something or other, gulped as Draco pinned him with a stare and let go of Draco's robes quickly. "What?" Draco snapped.

"I'm sorry to bother you, Malfoy, but I'm late for Divination, and I'm lost!" the boy whined. He looked up at Draco with desperate, adoring eyes. "Please..._please_ can you at least tell me where it is? I swear I won't ever ask again, I'll _memorize_ the way! Trelawney will take points if I'm late, and I couldn't stand it if I lost points for the house!"

Draco glanced down the corridor and saw Professor McGonagall standing at the door of her classroom, watching their exchange with disapproving interest. The scathing reply forming on Draco's lips died as he met her cool eyes. He wouldn't put it past the old bat to talk him down to Snape for refusing to help a younger student—he was positive the Gryffindor Head wanted nothing more than to see him lose his prefect's badge.

"Fine," Draco said impatiently. He waved to Crabbe and Goyle to go on ahead, and motioned to the boy. "Follow me, I'll show you." He set off down the hall, Walter rushing to keep up with his long-legged stride. Draco refrained from sneering at the Transfigurations professor as he passed her; it really was beneath him to be leading pathetic little third years about, but he had his reputation to think of. What would Father say if he lost his prefect status?

Thankfully the little wretch didn't talk as he followed Draco up toward the North Tower, though that might have been because he was out of breath from racing up the staircases, trying to keep up. They reached the trap door that led to the Divination classroom and Draco stopped short. "Here," he said sharply. "And _try_ to remember for next time."

"Thanks, Malfoy!" Walter tossed the words over his shoulder as he climbed the ladder into the classroom. The brat didn't even have the courtesy to be properly thankful. Draco rolled his eyes and turned back to the hall, making his way back to the staircase down. He was going to be late for Charms, thanks to that little horror, and it was even odds that Flitwick would take points from Slytherin. It galled Draco to know that he'd lose points when he had a legitimate reason to be late.

"Have you not yet found what you're looking for, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco stopped short, halfway to the stairs, and turned to face the source of the thin voice. "_Excuse_ me?

"You search. Over and over, in the same places, but you will not find your answers there." It was Professor Trelawney, the Divinations professor, standing beside the other window, one small hand clutching a lacy shawl around her neck.

Draco frowned at her. "How do you know I'm looking for something?"

Behind her ridiculous spectacles, Trelawney's eyes were huge and eerily blank. "If you wish to find the answer to your question, you will have to ask the one who knows it," she replied, her voice a rough, flat monotone that was utterly out of keeping with its wispy timbre. "You will find it no other way."

Draco jerked back, unnerved. He'd only encountered Trelawney once or twice, and had never spoken to the woman—how could she know about his search for Tom Riddle? If she was like this all the time, it was no wonder no one liked her. "If I wanted advice, I'd find someone better to ask than you," he said. "Old bat."

He flinched inwardly. That would be good for at least 20 points from Slytherin, however satisfying it was to tell her off. With the points he was sure to lose for being late to Charms, that would put Slytherin last for House Points—but Trelawney didn't seem to register his words. "Pride is a lonely country, Mr. Malfoy. You'd do well to remember that, when you go in search of your answers." Then she jolted, shook her head abruptly and blinked owlishly at Draco. "Are you supposed to be up here, young man? You're not in Divinations, are you?"

Draco gaped at her, confused by the sudden switch. "What?"

"Come on, now. If you aren't a student in my class, then you shouldn't be up here." Trelawney flapped one limp hand at him. "Go on. I'll not have students about, clogging up my tower with their muddy auras. Away with you, before I take points."

Trelawney fluttered off, trailing wispy scarves behind her as she disappeared around the corner. Draco stared after her, thoroughly bewildered. What was _that_ all about? One minute she was dispensing unsolicited advice about his research, and the next she was acting as though she'd never seen him before! "What the devil is going _on_?" he demanded of the corridor in general.

The corridor didn't seem to have a reply, and Draco stomped down the stairs toward the Charms classroom, brooding over the Professor's words. Perhaps Trelawney knew something he didn't. He'd just have to go corner Ginny Weasley and see what he found out.


	2. Chapter 2

~*~

Ginny stood a few paces away from Colin and Zoë, leaning against the wall and staring up at the ceiling of the corridor. The sixth year Gryffindors were milling around in the hall, chattering in small groups as they waited for the third year Hufflepuffs to vacate the DADA classroom. Most of the students were taking the opportunity to gossip and flirt, and the hall rang loudly enough with their voices that Professor Sinistra, down the hall, had poked her head out of her own classroom twice to tell them off. Ginny was constantly surprised at how easily her housemates forgot there was a war on. Adrienne and Shelley were gossiping about some Ravenclaw boy, and the boys weren't much better, chattering on about Quidditch. It was easy to see why some people must think the students terribly frivolous; Ginny certainly couldn't see any evidence of worry in her peers.

Of course, her classmates would think she was foolish for worrying at all, but with Harry Potter dragging her brother into all sorts of scrapes, a prime target for He Who Must Not Be Named, it was hard not to. Mum and Dad were involved in preparations too, and Dad had spent most of his summer working outrageous overtime at the Ministry. Mum managed to be home most of the time, but Ginny had seen the strain on her face last summer, could sense it in the letters Mum wrote, and knew events were taking a toll.

"Hey, Ginny!"

Ginny jolted out of her reverie as Colin jostled her elbow. "What?"

"You coming to class, or what?" Colin pointed toward the door of the classroom with a flourish, where Zoë was waiting, looking back to see what was keeping them.

"Oh, right." Ginny picked her bag up off the floor and followed Colin in.

"You all right?" Zoë asked as Ginny passed. "You seem a little distracted today."

"No more than usual," Ginny replied. She and Zoë usually sat together, and Ginny followed the other girl to the bench they shared. They sat and Ginny was saved more questions by Professor Delacour's call for their attention.

Class went by as quickly as it always did for Ginny, and Professor Delacour let them go after lessons with a reminder that their essays on the care and habits of Tebos were due the following week. With heartfelt grumbling the students began to file out into the hall. Colin caught up with Ginny and Zoë, his friend Sanjeet trailing behind him. "I can't believe we have _another_ essay due. It seems like essays are all we have nowadays. Like the teachers have decided to keep us out of trouble by making us write until our hands fall off!"

"That's not true," Zoë said. "We have a practical exam on blocking curses in DADA in two weeks, or had you forgotten?"

Colin's theatrical groan seemed to indicate he had. "I'm _shite_ at curse blocking! Gin, you'll help me, right? C'mon, say you will!"

"Sure, Colin. If Professor Delacour says it's all right, we can use the classroom on Saturday."

"You are a _lifesaver_," Colin said fervently. "San, you want to come too? Gin, you don't mind, do you?"

"Of course not," Ginny said. She smiled at San, who was one of the few Gryffindor students who was even quieter than she was.

He returned her grin, white teeth flashing in his dusky face.

"And you too, Zoë, if you want to," she added

"Great! Say, girls, San and I were going to start a pickup game of Quidditch tonight. You up for it?"

Ginny shook her head. "We should probably study," she said, as Zoë echoed her head-shake. "That essay is going to be brutal."

"As though you have anything to worry about, Ginny," Colin laughed. "You _always_ get top marks. What's your special project on this year?"

Ginny felt her cheeks heat. "Um, Unforgivable curses, actually."

Colin and San laughed, but Zoë looked impressed. "And Professor Delacour is letting you? I didn't think she'd allow you to do a project on them," she said.

"It's just theory," Ginny said quickly. "It's not like I'm allowed to go wandering 'round casting them on people."

"Well, that's good," Colin replied. "Say, maybe you could ask Harry about it. He's the only one I can think of who can throw off Imperious. Maybe he can tell you how he does it."

"He's not the only one, Ron can too," Ginny corrected. "And Hermione. And I wouldn't ask any of them for help. They've got schoolwork of their own, and other things to worry about. I can't ask them to do mine."

They had rounded the corner and were about to head down it, towards the stairs down to the entrance hall, when Zoë stopped dead. "Don't look now, but there's Malfoy down the corridor," she whispered. "Just lying in wait to take points, I'll wager. Should we go back and take the other stairs, do you think?"

Ginny looked toward the end of the corridor and a chill went through her. Malfoy was standing there, still as a statue, watching them—her—with icy eyes. "Yes," she said, almost afraid to take her eyes off him. "Let's go the other way."

She turned away, and a tingling awareness of Malfoy's eyes on her back made her shift her shoulders uncomfortably as she followed San, Colin and Zoë back the way they'd come. That was the second time this week he'd done this. Ginny didn't understand why he couldn't just leave her _alone_, instead of lurking around in corners _watching_ her. It was clearly Ginny who was the focus of his attention this year, too—Malfoy barely bothered at all with Ron or Harry anymore, ignoring them with a cool disdain that drove Ron to distraction. Ginny had hoped so fervently that the git had forgotten about their encounter last year, but apparently Malfoy wasn't giving up on this easily.

Ginny and her friends made it down to the Great Hall without incident, but she couldn't forget the way Malfoy had been waiting specifically for her. He must have known that they would be walking down that corridor after DADA. It was the shortest route from the DADA classroom to the Great Hall, everyone knew it, which meant that Malfoy might very well have been waiting for her. Hoping to catch her alone, maybe? Ginny shivered at the thought.

Colin and Zoë provided a welcome distraction from Ginny's brooding, pestering her with questions about their essay and joking about the mountain of work their teachers were threatening to bury them all under. Ginny managed to put the incident out of her mind until after bedtime. But alone in the dark, with nothing to distract her, it came back to haunt her. She lay in bed, staring up at her curtains, mulling it over. Why _was_ Malfoy following her? What could he possibly want?

And thinking about Malfoy inevitably led to thinking about Tom. Tom was the reason Malfoy was so interested, the reason he was following her, watching her. Tom and his seductive ways, his dark eyes and ability to twist anything of hers hopelessly out of true. Ginny sighed and gave up on sleep entirely. She could go down to the common room and read, she supposed, or just lie here and stare at her curtains, imagining horrible faces in their shadows until she worked herself into a state, or she could take her parchment and books and sneak out to the DADA classroom to work on her essay. The last seemed like the best option, time-consuming, interesting and blessedly private so long as she steered clear of Filch. Not that Filch would be able to catch her—the old man couldn't catch any Weasley worth their salt.

Her activity decided upon, Ginny crept out of bed and pulled a jumper on over her pyjamas, stuffing her feet into her shoes and snagging her cloak off the hook beside her bed. Her roommates slept on, oblivious, as she scooped up her bag and crept soundlessly out the door.

The DADA classroom was the haven it always was, and Ginny set her bag down with a satisfied thud. She cast a warming spell on her bench and pulled out the first of her books on Unforgivable curses, wrapping her cloak around her tightly against the chill. She worked steadily for an hour or two, note-taking and occasionally marking places in her text that were particularly interesting so that she could find them later. Ginny was so deep in her work that the sound of the door opening behind her made her jump, gasping.

She whirled around, and found herself face to face with Draco Malfoy.

~*~

Draco surveyed Ginny, his eyes narrowing. Ever since his encounter with Trelawney he'd been waiting to get the littlest Weasley alone and here she was, out after hours, sitting in her pyjamas on a bench in the DADA classroom. How convenient.

"Well, well," he drawled, sauntering further into the room. "Fancy meeting you here, Weasley. Why aren't you in your bed like the rest of the good little Gryffindors?"

To her credit, she didn't back down. Instead, she tossed her hair out of her face and glared at him. "I hardly think it's any of your business, Malfoy. I'm not doing anything wrong."

"No? Out of your common room after hours, hiding in an empty classroom when you should be in bed, both of which are in flagrant violation of school rules? This is your idea of doing nothing wrong?" Draco moved closer and stopped at the end of the bench she was sitting on, fingering the prefect's badge pinned to his robe. Unlike Ginny, he was wearing proper clothes, not slouching about in his bed-wear. "That's a fair handful of points right there, Weasley. In case you didn't know."

"So take them and be done with it," she said with a defiant toss of her hair. She gathered up the papers she'd been writing on and stuffed her quill into the pocket of her pyjama trousers. "Since I'm sure you're dying to." Draco didn't reply immediately, and Ginny took the opportunity to slip out the other side of the row and back warily toward the door.

"Actually," he said, and she stopped, her eyebrows lifting in surprise. "There's something I've been wanting to ask you."

"What?"

"I've a question for you," Draco repeated. "Answer it for me and I won't take points."

Ginny pushed a lock of fiery hair behind one ear and shrugged warily. "Fine. Ask away, then."

"Tom Riddle," Draco began, and stopped as Ginny went from pale to dead white at the name. She backed up a step and clutched the book she was holding to her chest, her face the same mask of desperation and terror it had been the day she'd seen the boggart. Draco moved forward, alarmed. It'd be a bloody waste of time if she ran off before he got a chance to ask. "I want to know who he is."

Her face went from white to red, and she backed away from him rapidly. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You do, Weasley, and we both know it. Who was he?" Ginny had backed up to the wall at the end of the room and Draco followed, crowding her into the wall and blocking her escape with one casually placed arm. This close, he could see the faint lines of strain around her mouth, the nervous terror in her eyes.

"I don't know anything about him!" she repeated frantically, trying to slide along the wall away from him. "And even if I did, you know already, so why don't you just leave me alone?"

"No, I don't know already!" Draco snarled, his frustration showing through. Ginny tried to push past him but he beat her to the door, slamming it shut and setting one shoulder against it. "Enlighten me."

Ginny looked mutinous enough to hex him. Draco was surprised; nothing he'd observed about her so far indicated that she had that much fire in her. Instead of trying, though, she backed a few paces down the aisle and glared at him. "How could you _not_ know, Malfoy? It was your father who gave me the bloody diary!" she hissed, her face flushing a blotchy red. "If this is your idea of a joke, I'm not laughing!"

"Weasley, I have no idea what you're talking about. What diary?" He had to tighten his hands in his robes to stop from reaching out and shaking it out of her. "Why would my father give you anything?"

"Because he hates my father, and he wanted to get back at him, and using me was the best way he could think of!" Ginny spat. "You honestly expect me to believe that you have no idea what happened? That your horrible father didn't gloat about it with your whole horrible family, about how he gave poor Ginny Weasley a haunted diary to take her over and make her do things?"

"My father wouldn't—"

"He _did_! It was him, he slipped it into my cauldron when we met you at Flourish and Blotts that year, and it was haunted, and I wrote in it, and _he_ wrote back, all year!" She gasped for air, shuddering, looking close to tears. "All year, I was writing in it, and it was _Tom_. He _used_ me, used my words, made me do things -"

"It wrote—? You _wrote_ in a haunted diary?" Draco asked. "Are you _stupid_? You don't write to books if they can write back! Didn't your parents ever teach you anything?"

"I was eleven!" Ginny shouted, her voice breaking with emotion. She was really crying now, her hands pressed to her stomach, trying to stop the tears, or maybe just to hold herself together. "I was eleven, and I _didn't know_. I thought maybe my mum had got me a present as a surprise, something to keep me company. I thought he was my _friend_! I didn't know what he was, or who he was, like I didn't know what I was doing, or what he was doing to me!"

Well, that was just mad. "That's mad," Draco said, and shook his head in disbelief. Of course she'd have to be a lunatic as well as poor as a church-mouse and not very pretty, standing there agape with her face all blotchy and her nose running. It _still_ didn't answer his question. "Even if you did happen into a haunted diary, and were foolish enough to write in it, what was so special about Tom Riddle anyway?"

Ginny calmed a bit, wiped at her cheeks with a shaking hand and stared at him incredulously. "You really don't know?"

Draco snarled in frustration. "If I knew I wouldn't be asking, would I? All I've found out is that Tom Riddle went to Hogwarts, and after he graduated he left the country and disappeared. That's the last anyone heard of him. Who is he and why's he so bloody important, _that's_ what I want to know. Because he is important, I know that much. So tell me!"

Ginny held his gaze for a long moment—so long that Draco was beginning to think she might tell him to sod himself and then he really _would_ kill himself out of sheer frustration—before she went to the desk and drew a piece of paper from her bag. Draco watched, arms crossed against his chest as she dipped an unsteady quill into her inkpot and wrote seven words on the paper. She held it out to him with trembling fingers, and the paper shook in the air; Draco walked forward and plucked it from her fingers to look at it while she sank onto the bench by her books.

_Tom Marvolo Riddle._

I Am Lord Voldemort.

Draco nearly dropped the sheet. "He's the _Dark Lord_?"

Ginny nodded, and Draco sat down hard beside her on the bench.

"Your father slipped Tom Riddle's diary into my Transfiguration text at the start of my first year," Ginny said, her voice eerily calm. "He'd imbued the book with his spirit long ago, a sort of copy of himself, and when I wrote in it, it transferred my life force to him. He could—could take me over, use me to do things, to hurt people. He had me let the basilisk loose, nearly killed half a dozen people...nearly killed me. Harry stopped him."

Draco transferred his shocked gaze to her. "That was _you_. In second year. _You_ opened the Chamber of Secrets," he said in astonishment. "All the petrifications, all the messages...that was you?"

Ginny nodded, her face a picture of misery within the curtain of her bright hair.

Draco didn't know what to say. "Father told me it was the Heir of Slytherin."

"It was," Ginny whispered. "Tom was."

Draco digested this for a moment. "But that can't be right," he said finally. "Because I've been researching your Tom Riddle for a year now, and he was a _mudblood_. He can't be You-Know-Who or the Heir of Slytherin. He was a Muggle."

Ginny laughed shortly. "He was only half-Muggle. His father abandoned his mother the minute he found out his wife was a witch. Tom was left in an orphanage, stuck there with non-magic people who didn't understand him. Why do you think he hates them so much?"

Draco was thankful he was sitting down for this conversation; he felt as though he'd been standing on a magic carpet a hundred feet in the air, and someone had just yanked it out from under him. "But Father says he wants to lead the world back to rights—to the proper ways, not all influenced by mudbloods. How can You-Know-Who be for purebloods when he's not even pureblood himself?"

"Well, what's pureblooded anyway?" Ginny asked. "Filch is a pureblood, and he's a squib. Neville's pureblood too, and he's not all that great at wizardry—even my family has a squib or two, and the Weasleys have been wizards almost as long as your family. If it weren't for intermarrying with Muggles, wizards would have died out long ago."

Draco shook his head slowly. She was wrong of course, he _knew_ she was wrong, but he was too distracted to refute her just now. Voldemort—no. He simply couldn't be a mudblood. There was no way. Father would never stand for it. "There's got to be another explanation."

Ginny made a frustrated noise and stood up, gathering up her books and her bag. She had calmed down considerably, though her face was still red and her eyes slightly swollen. "Well, that's the only explanation I can give you. If you think your father's lying to you, I guess you'll have to ask him about it." She turned on her heel and stalked to the door, letting herself into the corridor.

The door closed with a soft click that Draco barely registered. He sat in the empty classroom until it was nearly light, thinking over what she'd said. If what she'd said about Tom Riddle really was true...well, funny how getting an answer to his first question only led to more.

~*~

Ginny leaned back against the wall of the girls' bath, letting the chill of the stone wall seep through her robes and ease her aching shoulders. It helped to cool the heat of her embarrassment too—if she had to pick a list of things she'd rather not do, the little fit she'd had at Draco Malfoy tonight would certainly be high up on the list. Ginny closed her eyes and groaned softly as she thought about the way she'd lost control. _So_ humiliating. And Draco had been there to watch it all, watch her cry and rage and yell like some pathetic little girl. She could just imagine what he'd say tomorrow. She'd given him enough fodder for _weeks_ of taunting.

Draco didn't believe her, that much was obvious. Oh, he might believe her story about Tom and the diary, but Ginny could tell he didn't really believe that Tom and Voldemort were the same person. Whatever lies Lucius Malfoy had told his son about the Dark Lord, they were well learned. For all she knew, he'd _met_ Voldemort before.

The thought of Voldemort made Ginny go cold. She had no idea if the diary was still active, if there was a way for Voldemort to access the words and memories of his ghostly teenage self. She hoped not—Professor Dumbledore said that Tom was gone, that Harry had destroyed him by destroying the diary but what had happened to it afterward, she didn't know. She wouldn't have put it past Harry to do something _really_ stupid with it, like give it back to Lucius Malfoy. Who knew what sort of magic might be lingering in its pages? What if Dumbledore were wrong about the thing being destroyed? If anyone had bothered to ask her, she would have said to burn it and scatter the ashes, obliterate it utterly so that all that was left would be her own fading memory of Tom.

Ginny braced her back against the wall, dropped to the cool tile and lowered her head to her knees. It really was too much to expect, to hope that Draco wouldn't say anything about their meeting tonight. And then there would be questions from Ron, from her parents, from Madam Pomfrey and maybe even Dumbledore. What was she doing out of the dormitory so late at night? Why did she have trouble sleeping? Why had she never told anyone about the nightmares? Was she ill? Was she feeling strange? It made Ginny's head spin just to think about it. And all because Draco had done her a good turn in bad grace, and didn't know when to leave well enough alone.

Ginny heaved herself to her feet and went back to the common room. It didn't do any good to brood about things she couldn't fix now. She'd spend the rest of the night on a couch—she did that often enough that it wouldn't look odd to anyone, and maybe she'd even get some sleep tonight.

Several hours later, Ginny woke to a hand shaking her shoulder and Zoë's earnest face looking into hers. "Ginny, are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Ginny said. She sat up and yawned, looking around the common room. It was empty, the fire out. Zoë had a towel draped over one arm and her toiletries bag with her.

"Are you sure? You look tired. When did you come downstairs?" The girl's small face was a mask of concern.

"It's nothing, Zoë. I'm fine," Ginny said. "Just couldn't sleep, so I came down here to study and fell asleep on the couch." Which was mostly a lie, but it hardly mattered—Zoë seemed to accept it. Ginny summoned up a false, bright smile for her friend and gathered up her bag. "If you're going to the bath, I'll go get my things and come with you."

"Of course. I'll be right here." Zoë smiled back, and sat on the arm of the couch.

"I won't be a moment." Ginny dashed up the stairs to exchange her book bag for her toiletries bag, grateful that Zoë wasn't going to push about finding her on the couch.

Ginny pushed her encounter with Draco out of her mind while she and Zoë got ready for the day and went down to breakfast. Ginny entered the Great Hall with trepidation, but to her surprise, Draco didn't tease her about their late-night encounter. He didn't at lunch, either, nor at any other meal that week. In fact, he barely noticed her—or Harry, or Ron, or anyone else at all. Draco seemed to have retreated inward, paying little attention to his House mates and classmates in favour of doing what looked like some furious thinking. Ginny supposed that must be a good thing, and even better if it meant he had forgotten about her.

~*~

Draco slumped against a table in the back of the library surrounded by old books, heedless of his posture. He had sent Crabbe and Goyle off, and Pansy was mercifully avoiding him today, so there was no one to see his shameful lack of elegance. He didn't have the energy to worry about appearances right now, not after what he'd spent his afternoon looking for—and finding.

Everything he looked at pointed to the same thing; Tom Riddle and Lord Voldemort were the same person. The timelines corresponded, and one book even had a sketch of what the Dark Lord had looked like the first time he'd risen, which looked a lot like an older Riddle might. The little Weasel had been telling the truth. Her Tom was Voldemort. It all fit.

Draco still couldn't believe that it was true. He couldn't reconcile what he knew of Tom Riddle with what he knew about Voldemort, and his father's beliefs. How could Father follow the Dark Lord if he knew that the Dark Lord wasn't even an embodiment of the ideals he held? It didn't make any sense. If Voldemort was a mudblood, that changed _everything_. If purity of blood was so important to Father—and it _was_, Draco had sat through too many lectures on that selfsame purity to think otherwise—then why would Father trust someone who wasn't a pureblood to cleanse the wizarding world of its dirty taint? _That_ was the thing that was eluding him now, the answer to that 'why'. Because if Voldemort was a mudblood, then Father was wrong. And if Father was wrong about this, then what _else_ was he wrong about?

What Draco needed, what he _really_ needed, was someone who would be able to tell him the truth. Someone who wasn't Weasley, and wasn't Father, wasn't some dusty old book full of inferences. Someone who had a working knowledge of the Dark Lord and who might know a little of the school's history too.

Put that way, the person to ask was obvious.

Making an appointment with Snape didn't even draw suspicion; Draco spent half his time working at extra Potions assignments anyway, and arranging to meet his Head of House was a matter of course for a Slytherin Prefect. Draco waved Crabbe and Goyle away and foisted Pansy off on Blaise—Merlin knew if Blaise really was interested in the girl then he was welcome to her—and made his way down to Snape's office, his list of carefully prepared questions tucked into the pocket of his robes.

Snape was grading papers by candlelight, patiently marking down parchment after parchment and muttering imprecations under his breath about the stupidity of children. Draco's mouth lifted in a faint smirk, though it didn't last long. He'd often wondered why Snape bothered teaching, when he was a highly intelligent pure-blooded Slytherin who could be doing just about anything else. Draco wondered suddenly if Snape were something _else_ he'd been blind to. Snape had been a Death Eater, Father had said so, yet he chose to live under Dumbledore's thumb doing something he clearly hated. Why?

Draco was starting to get very tired of that word.

"Mr. Malfoy. May I help you, or are you going to stand in the doorway all night and let in a draft?"

"Sorry, sir." Draco stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. Snape waved him into the chair in front of his desk, and Draco sank into it gratefully. Thank Merlin Snape wasn't Father, and he wouldn't be made to stand for this interview—that always made Draco uncomfortable.

Snape hadn't stopped marking, nor did he lift his eyes when he spoke. "What can I help you with?"

Draco considered how to approach his subject, then decided there was nothing for it but to jump right in. "Is You-Know-Who really half-Muggle?"

Snape froze, his hand tightening on the quill he held. After a lengthy moment he lifted his head to fix Draco with coal-black eyes. "What?" His voice was deceptively soft.

"I've been doing some...independent research," Draco said cautiously. "And I think that You-Know-Who was a Muggle—or part Muggle, anyway. I wanted to know if it was true."

Snape didn't move. He simply looked at Draco, his face blank. Draco remembered something Father had said about Snape—that the man had the heart of a snake, cold and difficult to find. Finally Snape shook his head and raised his quill again, turning his attention to the papers he was marking. "I can't tell you that."

"Why not?"

"Because it's not for me to say."

"Why not?" Draco began, then stopped himself. That sounded far too much like a whine. Judging by the disgusted look Snape shot him, the Potions professor thought so too. He tried again. "Why can't you tell me? "

"I've already told you why. It's not for me to say," Snape repeated. "Ask your father."

Infuriated, Draco pushed himself forward in his chair. "If not you, then who else?" he demanded. "I have asked father, and he won't tell me. If _you_ won't tell me, how am I supposed to find anything out?"

Snape raised an eyebrow curiously. "I suppose it would depend on what you're looking for."

"How about _answers_?" Draco spat. "You were a Death Eater the last time You-Know-Who was in power. _Was he a Muggle or not_?"

Snape shook his head patiently. "It is not for me to instruct you on the subject of Lord Voldemort or his followers. You will have to ask your father."

"What makes you think I haven't _tried_?" Draco stood up and started to pace in a small, frustrated circle. "Father just says it's none of my business and he'll tell me 'when I'm ready'! Dammit, I'm not a child!"

"Then perhaps you shouldn't act like one, Mr. Malfoy," Snape said. "If you have nothing more to say, I believe this audience is over."

Draco snarled and took himself out, slamming Snape's office door as loudly as possible on his way. Snape seemed to want to play secrets, and that was just fine. It wasn't as though Draco was out of resources. If Ginny Weasley was the only one around who would give him _answers_ instead of put-offs, then he'd just go and _ask_ her.

~*~

Ron, Harry and Hermione were at it again, whispering down at the far end of the Gryffindor table, their heads bent tight together as they talked urgently amongst themselves. Ginny watched them enviously. She often wondered what it must be like to have that sort of friendship; the sort where you were a seamless part of a whole instead of three separate people. Ginny didn't have that with Colin and Zoë, or with anyone else. Not since Tom.

It always came back to Tom, and Ginny was beginning to suspect it always would. Being at Hogwarts was a constant reminder of her first horrible year here, wondering if she were going mad, if she were imagining things, trying to talk to Tom about it and having him tell her that she mustn't tell anyone what was going on. They'd think she was crazy, her brothers would never understand, no one could understand her like he did. And it was true. He had been so earnest, so solicitous when she had poured her troubles out to him, so understanding and kind. He'd been like no other friend she'd ever had, always asking after her, wanting to know her thoughts and worries, never impatient with her or rushing off to talk to someone more interesting.

Even after she knew that his concern for her was false, no one had ever treated her quite like Tom. He had always acted as though her opinions mattered, really listened to her as she spilled all her childish worries onto his pages. As false as he was, Tom had been her first real friend, and after her first solitary year at Hogwarts Ginny found she had difficulty making new ones. Colin and Zoë were all right, but they were closer to each other than they were to Ginny, and she could see that their friendship was going to develop into something more eventually. She'd be left out even more than she already was.

Ginny watched as Ron, Harry and Hermione stood up as one and made their way out of the Great Hall, heads still bent together. She imagined they were talking about something really important—she doubted Hermione was all that concerned with which boy was cuter or whether the new colours at Gladrags would suit her, which was all Adrienne and Shelley ever talked about. Ginny would bet that when Hermione talked to Ron and Harry, it was about things that really _mattered_, things that would have an effect on the world, that would result in people being protected and bad things happening to the other side.

Ginny, obviously, wasn't included in any of those sorts of discussions. She knew that they all saw her as a child still, too young to be worrying about things as serious as battle plans and deployments, never mind that she was better at DADA than Ron and she'd gotten better marks than anyone in her year. If Ginny offered up a suggestion she would undoubtedly get the sort of response that Dad might give: "You're too young, and classroom learning is no substitute for real experience."

Except the reason Ginny _had_ no real experience was because after her first year at Hogwarts her family insisted on treating her like she was made of glass. Mum bought all of her books, and Dad double-checked all of her things for charms before they let her have them. She wasn't allowed to do anything alone when she was at home, and none of her friends at Hogwarts had half the sense of adventure that Ron did. They never seemed to want to do anything even remotely adventurous. Ginny was always the odd one out. She wanted to have friends who would be there for her the way that Harry and Hermione were there for Ron, and he for them. Colin and Zoë were good friends to her, but it wasn't the same. She wanted friends who would listen to and understand her, who wouldn't judge her or want to change her, friends with whom she could talk about anything.

She wanted Tom.

Despite everything she knew about him—_knew_ about him, more intimately than anyone else could ever hope to—despite his cruelty and ultimate indifference and his final, cold abandonment, despite the fact that he terrified her with what she knew he could do, she wanted him. She wanted what she'd thought he was, what he had been, even if he had only been that way to get what he wanted.

Sometimes it felt like she didn't even exist here anymore, in this world with her classmates and friends and family. As though her only real purpose or goal in the world was to have been a conduit for Tom, to be whatever he had wanted to shape her into. She had loved him and hated him, wanted him in ways she had only half-understood at eleven, with a fierce, sharp desire that scared her when she thought about it.

And then Malfoy had come along with his smirks and his questions and his bewilderment at the answers that weren't what he'd expected, leaving Ginny with no one to talk to about things that no one ever wanted to talk about.

Except Tom.

Ginny had never kept another diary, not because she'd been forbidden from it but because she hadn't _wanted_ to. What was the point of writing things down if no one wrote back? Tom's diary had been special, because when she wrote out her problems and worries he had always been there with friendly words, to offer advice or console her when she needed it. A regular diary wouldn't be like that—wouldn't be a _friend_, not really. And real friends, friends to whom she could pour out all her thoughts and feelings...well, Ginny didn't have any. Perhaps it was blasphemous but watching Ron and Harry and Hermione leaving the Great Hall as one, Ginny wanted with all her heart to be able to talk to Tom.

And there was a way she could, wasn't there? Ginny knew, deep down, that she was still more afraid of Tom than anything else, just as she knew that Professor Delacour had acquired a new boggart for her third years, and that it was being kept in the wardrobe of the DADA classroom. She _could_ talk to Tom if she wanted to. It wouldn't quite be the same, of course, seeing him in the flesh rather than writing to him, but it would be close enough.

It took Ginny weeks to make up her mind, weeks of internal debate and fierce arguments with herself about the wisdom of doing what she was thinking of doing. She hadn't even really made up her mind, but she still ended up in front of the wardrobe in the DADA classroom, one night, staring at the wooden doors. Ginny stood there for a long, long time, debating with herself. She didn't know if she wanted to do this, didn't know if she wanted to face him without someone else to pull her out if she failed again.

But when had she ever had a safety net?

Ginny reached out one hand, and rested it on the wardrobe latch.

~*~

"What are you doing?"

Ginny spun around with a sharp gasp, her hands leaping to her chest. She closed her eyes in obvious relief when she spotted him. "_Malfoy_. You scared the life out of me!"

Draco frowned at her as she slumped against the wardrobe. "What are you doing, Weasley?"

Her eyes flew open, and she stiffened warily. "Nothing," she said, too quickly. "I was just doing some research for a DADA project."

The girl really was a terrible liar. "Weasley, you're a terrible liar. What were you really doing?"

She was stubborn even if she wasn't good at lying. "It was nothing. I wasn't doing anything wrong."

"So you were doing something." Draco smirked at the frustrated expression on her face. "You know, Weasley, this habit of sneaking out at night is going to get you in serious trouble sooner or later. If you tell me why you're here, you can postpone the inevitable that much longer."

Ginny pressed her lips together in irritation and glared at him. "I'm not telling you anything, Malfoy. It's none of your business." She turned away from him to tidy the stack of books on the desk beside her, her movements jerky and uneven.

Draco watched, one eyebrow raised. He very deliberately kicked the door shut and leaned against it. "You're not leaving here until you tell me."

Ginny leaned heavily against the desk, then suddenly picked up the top-most book and spun around to hurl it at him, her face twisted with anger. Draco ducked, and the heavy book thunked into the wood beside his shoulder. "I said it was _nothing_!" she yelled, then slumped to the bench, shoulders sagging.

Draco waited a moment, watching her curved back cautiously, but she didn't seem ready to launch any more attacks on him with unsuspecting books. He made sure the door was firmly shut, then leaned down and picked up the book she'd thrown, smoothing the bent spine carefully. Ginny didn't move, not even when he put the book down on the desk beside her and sat down on the edge of the bench.

It took a moment to realize that she was crying, tears leaking steadily from beneath her closed eyelids. Draco hovered nervously at her side, at a loss. He wasn't equipped to cope with _tears_, for God's sake. "Look, Weasley, I—"

"I was looking for _him_, alright?" Ginny spat bitterly, her breath hitching. "Are you _happy_ now? I was looking for Tom." Her voice cracked on the name, and she leaned one elbow on the desk in front of her and rested her forehead on her hand, her face obscured by a bright curtain of red hair. Her other arm was wrapped around her waist, as though trying to hold in the emotions that were shaking her apart.

Draco swallowed. He wanted to touch her, he realized suddenly, to comfort her, to wipe away the silent tears he knew were tracing her cheeks, wanted it so badly his palms ached. It was an utterly foreign feeling—when had he started being affected by some weepy girl's crying fits? But this wasn't Pansy, sobbing over a broken nail or ruined shoe, this was real grief, and he wanted to help her. But he couldn't, could he? It wasn't done—Malfoys did not comfort crying girls out of the goodness of their hearts. He was fairly sure that Malfoys weren't even supposed to _have_ hearts. Certainly Father didn't.

But Father had been proven wrong once already, hadn't he?

_Pride is a lonely country, Mr. Malfoy._

Damn that old bat anyway. He reached out slowly, and feeling as though he were launching himself off a precipice, he rested it on Ginny's shoulder. She sighed and seemed to sag a bit against her hand. Draco let his hand slide down her back gently, rubbing in slow circles. But instead of being soothed, his touch on her shoulder seemed to break something inside of her, and Ginny started to cry in earnest, in harsh, rasping sobs that shook her whole body.

It took a moment for Draco to realize that she was speaking, muttering words and disjointed phrases in between those terrible sobs. "Wrong, wrong, it's wrong, I know it's wrong, but I wanted to—just once, he was _mine_. _Mine_, and I loved him, and it's not _fair_ -"

Draco patted her back helplessly. "Shhhh," he murmured, unused to this business of giving comfort and fervently hoping she'd stop crying soon. "It's all right."

"It's not," Ginny said, her voice muffled and hoarse. "It's not all right." She took one deep breath, and another, then raised her head, face blotchy from weeping, and slid slightly away from him on the bench. Draco scowled and stood up abruptly, cursing himself inwardly for wishing that she hadn't moved.

Silence stretched out between them, broken by the odd sniffle from Ginny. She wiped at her cheeks with the edge of her sleeve, and Draco wordlessly produced a handkerchief for her, accepting her murmured thank you with a curt nod. "What's this all about, then?" he demanded finally, waving one hand at the empty classroom.

Ginny shook her head and looked away. "I just wanted to—I don't know. I wanted to see him again. He was—" She broke off and shut her eyes tightly. "Haven't you ever felt like—like no one cares? Like you have no one to talk to, no one who'll listen? Tom—he always listened. I mean, later he didn't care, he didn't, and I know that, but in the beginning he did. And I wanted that." She wiped at her face with the handkerchief again and met his eyes. "I don't expect you to understand. _I_ don't understand it, I don't see why anyone else would."

Draco leaned casually against the desk across the aisle. "You're right, I don't understand. I thought you said he was using you to petrify people."

Ginny nodded. "He was. He was...but long before that, he was my friend."

Draco raised his eyebrows. Friends with Voldemort. That was a new one. "So you were looking for...what? Another boggart?"

She flushed red, but nodded again, dropping her head to stare at her hands. "I wanted to see him again."

Draco nodded silently, because she seemed to not want a reply to that. The silence stretched out before Ginny broke it again by clearing her throat rustily.

"It's just that—I loved him. I would have done anything -"

"Don't be ridiculous," Draco interjected scornfully. "You're a Gryffindor, aren't you? With all the stupid bravery nonsense they drill into you in that house." He spared a disgusted snort to show what he thought of Gryffindors. "You seem to be willful enough. You'd have probably told him to go sod himself."

Ginny shook her head miserably. "But I didn't. I didn't. After everything that happened, and all the people that got hurt, and I couldn't tell him no. They say that no one can really make you do anything you don't want to do, not deep down. So all of the...all of it, at some level, I must have—have wanted—" she bit off the sentence and ducked her head again.

"What, you mean somewhere deep inside you is a rabid chicken murderer?" Draco snorted. "I'm deathly afraid, get away from me, you foul woman." He stopped and wrinkled his nose. "And that was a truly awful pun."

Ginny let out a choked giggle and shook her head again. "That's not what I meant," she said. "Maybe he wouldn't have had to take me over. I would have just—" she faltered, "just done it. Because he asked."

"Oh, so if I said, go launch yourself off the Astronomy Tower, you'd do it?"

"No," she said scornfully. "Don't be silly."

"Bet you would for Potter."

That earned him a deadly glare. "I wouldn't!" Then she stopped, and looked down at her clenched hands. "Not anymore, anyway."

Draco sighed in disgust. "Weasley, that's pathetic."

"I know."

And damned if that tiny, hopeless voice didn't get to him like nothing else. "Well, you did say you wouldn't anymore," he said, hinting encouragement, half-disgusted with himself for bothering.

"He wouldn't ask," Ginny murmured.

Draco hissed through his teeth. "Why do you _care_? He's not that special, he's funny looking, he's got bad hair, he's next to blind in more ways than one and he's _certainly _not worth jumping off towers for. And anyway," he continued as Ginny lifted her head, "do you really _want_ the kind of boy who'd actually ask you to throw yourself off a cliff for him? I'm sure it's the sort of ridiculous romantic nonsense girls love, but the fact is, you sacrifice yourself for him and he'll run off with the next tart who shows a bit of leg faster than you can say 'closed casket funeral'!"

Ginny stared at him in shocked silence, then burst into peals of laughter. Draco flopped down beside her on the bench and waited until her laughter trailed off into sputtering giggles. She'd gone pink in the cheeks, and her eyes were sparkling with merriment as she glanced at him. She looked...not beautiful, no, but pretty. Prettier than when she was crying, anyway.

"It's true, you know," he said. "Potter's not worth that sort of devotion."

Ginny sobered. "If not Harry, then who else?"

"_No one_!" he said harshly. "No one is worth giving yourself up like that! Hell, Weasley, you should know that better than anyone. Or did you _like_ killing chickens for Tom?"

That scored a direct hit; Ginny flinched as though she'd been struck. But she didn't give up, not that he'd expected her to. "And what about you?"

Draco narrowed his eyes. "What does this have to do with me?"

"All these bold words about not letting anyone push you around. Does it mean you're not going to go off and join the Death Eaters as soon as school ends?" The laughter was all gone from her face now.

"That's not the same," he said instantly. "It's totally different."

"Is it?" Her eyes were steady on him, and it was Draco who looked away first.

"It _is_ different," he insisted. How had this conversation gotten so turned around? "My father wouldn't let anyone boss him around—"

"Except You-Know-Who," Ginny put in calmly. "Don't you know what the Dark Mark is? It's a way for You-Know-Who to contact his Death Eaters, all the time, wherever they are. He sears it into your skin and then you're never, ever free of him. He could burn people up if they disobeyed him, just by using the Mark, that's what the books say." Ginny tilted her head consideringly. "But you don't have to believe me...you can always ask Snape."

He didn't want to look at her, didn't want to acknowledge that she was _right_, damn her. Because he _knew_ the Mark hurt—he'd seen Father wince and rub at it before, seen Snape clutch at his own forearm in pain when the Potions master thought no one was watching. But Draco couldn't imagine his father submitting to that if it did what Ginny said—not Lucius Malfoy. He wouldn't allow anyone the power of life or death over himself, wouldn't give that sort of power to someone else.

"Your father must gain something from it," Ginny said, as though reading his mind. "Power and immortality—those were the two things Tom wanted most, and what his followers want most too. So ask yourself, what will _you_ do if your father gets what he wants? Unlimited power, living forever? You're his heir, but if he never dies, what happens to you? Do you want to spend the rest of your life as a hanger-on?"

"You've put an awful lot of thought into this, haven't you?" Draco sneered, glaring at her. "Spent a lot of time thinking about the Dark Lord's motives?"

"He lived in my head for a year," Ginny replied hollowly. "So yes, I know how he thinks. Not because I feel the same, but...I do know."

Draco stared at her, unsure how to respond to that. Maybe Ginny did know, better than he did, anyway. She looked so...hurt somehow, with those enormous brown eyes downcast in her too-thin face, her pale cheeks scattered with freckles like cinnamon on cream. The spark that shone through her and lit up her features when she laughed was gone, and she seemed somehow diminished, plain and pale and fragile. Draco reached out without thinking to rest one hand on her narrow shoulder. The desire to give her comfort somehow was overwhelming—to take away that sadness and make her smile again.

Ginny lifted those deep eyes to focus on him, sad and startled at the same time, with an expression in them that Draco felt sure no one had ever seen but him. _Don't do this,_ he thought, even as he leaned forward. _This is a _bad_ idea._ His lips brushed hers gently, and it _was_ a bad idea, because once he'd felt her soft, soft mouth against his, he had to feel it again, and then again. And then her lips parted against his, and she made a soft hungry noise in her throat as he opened his own mouth and traced the inside of her lips with his tongue, and he was lost.


	3. Chapter 3

~*~

Ginny raced up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower, danced impatiently while the Fat Lady grumbled and muttered about being woken up by inconsiderate students out wandering the halls when they should be in bed, and flew up to her dorm without pausing. She flung herself down on her bed and drew the curtains, shutting out the faint sounds of her dorm mates breathing in the easy rhythm of sleep.

Draco Malfoy had kissed her.

Draco Malfoy had _kissed_ her.

_Her_. Little Ginny Weasley with the funny hair and the too-pale skin and the freckles, who was always fading into walls and going unnoticed and had been, up until very recently, not the sort of girl that any boy even looked at twice, never mind kissed.

Except, apparently, Draco Malfoy. Who had noticed.

Ginny raised one trembling hand to her lips, torn between laughter and outright hysteria. She could still sense his mouth, the feel of it pressed against her own, the taste of him... Ginny shuddered, closing her eyes to draw the memory closer. She'd been kissed before, of course; first Michael, and then Dean, but neither of her previous boyfriends had made her feel like _this_. This trembling, fragile, shaky sensation that settled low in her stomach and made her feel both languid and jittery, hollow and full.

And he knew about Tom.

Knew and didn't pretend it hadn't happened, like her parents, or carefully avoid bringing it up, like Ron, Hermione and Harry. Draco had _asked_ her about Tom, had actually wanted to talk about him. And after everything she had told him, everything she'd said, everything she'd been afraid to admit to _anyone_ about Tom and how she felt about him, Draco hadn't shied away. He hadn't made her feel like she was wrong, or like she was mad for thinking of Tom with kindness.

He had _kissed_ her.

Ginny gave up on sleep, knowing there was no way she would be able to settle to it tonight. She lay on her back and stared up at her bed curtains, her mind wandering in circles. It had been such a relief to be able to talk about it finally, after trying to shove her thoughts of Tom away and pretend she didn't have them. And Draco hadn't even flinched, as though it were perfectly normal for her to be wrapped up in a memory of someone who hadn't even existed. Certainly he'd been nasty, but she was beginning to think that was just because he didn't know how else to be. He had tried to be nice enough in his own way. More than she had a right to expect, really, since she had just collapsed and lost control in front of him, and Malfoy didn't normally let an opportunity like that pass him by.

Ginny took a deep breath, and then another, trying to calm her racing heart. She wondered if the whole thing were nothing more than a very devious plan on Draco's part to get at Harry through her—after all, why _else_ would Draco be trying to be nice to her? She could all but hear Hermione's voice: "You can't trust him, he's thoroughly awful, and he hates us, _why_ is he being so good to you?"

It was a good question. Draco Malfoy wasn't good to anyone without a purpose. He was awful and unpleasant and never did anything that wasn't to his advantage. Except he'd seemed more confused than she was when they finally broke apart, almost vulnerable. He had looked at her, wide-eyed and open, without the mask of arrogance that usually covered his features, had seemed as surprised by the kiss as _she_ was. He'd certainly left fast enough—all but fleeing the classroom without saying a word.

Ginny closed her eyes, confused and unsettled. She'd have a headache tomorrow, from all the crying and lack of sleep, and a part of her was still up in knots, worried that maybe this was all just a big joke on Malfoy's part, but it couldn't quite dull the little glow of happiness.

Draco Malfoy had _kissed_ her.

~*~

Draco wondered if it were possible to die of panic—it certainly felt as though it was. He felt his breathing spike, shallow gasps echoing through the low-ceilinged Slytherin boys' bath, and forced himself to calm down. He was slumped against the far wall, curled in on himself on the cold tile floor—which was reason enough to hope that no one came in. He'd be hard pressed to explain himself, and he had enough to worry about right now.

"Shit," he whispered softly, "shit, shit, _shit_." This was _so _bad, so _wrong_. Wrong on so many different levels he hardly knew where to start.

Father was going to kill him.

Father, Mother, Crabbe and Goyle, Zabini, probably Snape, Pansy—Draco blanched. How would he explain it to any of them? Not that anyone was going to find out about this...this...whatever this was. "Oh shit," Draco whispered again. He'd better make damn sure no one found out; didn't Weasley have something like 12 brothers? If it became public knowledge he was a dead man.

He'd only gone looking for Weasley because he wanted _answers_. He hadn't asked for anything else. Was it _his_ fault that the girl was made for kissing? That those thick red curls were designed to be wrapped around his hands, that her body fit neatly against his own, that she had an addictively sweet mouth? Kissing Pansy, the few times she'd cornered him and he'd been unable to avoid it, hadn't nearly prepared him for kissing Ginny. Not at _all_.

Draco groaned and thumped his head against the wall at his back. "I am a dead man," he told the room quietly, and thudded his head against the wall again with a sigh.

Draco took a deep breath and hauled himself to his feet. He'd just have to tell her to leave him alone, that was all. Explain to her that he had a life and responsibilities and a family tradition to uphold, and he wasn't going to ruin it by consorting with a Muggle-loving Weasley like her. "And anyway," he told his wan reflection in the mirror above the sink, "it didn't mean anything."

His reflection didn't look as though it believed him.

Draco glared at himself and straightened his shoulders. He was a _Malfoy_, see if he wasn't, and this didn't change anything. It couldn't happen again, that was perfectly clear. He'd just have to tell her so.

*

He found her in the DADA classroom again the next night—didn't the girl go anywhere _else_?—and leaned against the wall by the door. She'd been waiting for him; her papers and things were scattered around her, but his arrival didn't startle her this time.

"Hullo," she said, twisting a red curl around her finger.

"It can't happen again," he said without preamble, and was mildly gratified to see her face fall. Draco refused to allow himself to think in terms of disappointment—there wasn't any reason to feel that way. He had his reputation and his family to think of, and there was no place in his future for Ginny Weasley, even if he did want a future that included her. Which he didn't.

"You're right," Ginny said softly, and she sounded disappointed too. "It's probably best."

"Of course I'm right," Draco said. "It's intolerable, and it can't continue."

Ginny stiffened at that, and cast him an unreadable look from underneath her eyelashes. "All right, then." She looked like she might say something else, but shook her head and turned away, back to whatever it was she was doing here. She picked up her quill, chewing absently on the end of it as she turned a page in her book.

Draco watched her go back to her work, feeling unaccountably let down. He thought she'd be a little more upset. Pansy caused an unbelievable fuss over every little thing; Ginny's calm acceptance of what should have been a major blow seemed sort of unfair. Draco blew out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding and left the classroom, walking aimlessly in the general direction of the Slytherin common room. At least it was _over_ now. The mystery was solved. He was only disappointed because the denouement wasn't what he'd been expecting.

It only _felt_ unfinished.

~*~

Ginny listened to the sound of Draco's footsteps receding down the hall, unable to concentrate. _It can't happen again_, he'd said, and of course he was right. What would Ron say if he'd found out Draco Malfoy had kissed his sister? What would Hermione and Harry say? What would Mum and Dad say? Ginny couldn't stop the sick, twisting feeling in her middle as she thought of what their reaction would be. She couldn't deny that Draco was right. It couldn't happen. It couldn't work. There was nothing _to_ work. He'd cornered her, she'd got upset, he'd kissed her. That was all.

If only she could stop thinking about it.

Ginny sighed and gathered up her books. She didn't know what she was thinking, hoping that something good would come of being kissed by Draco Malfoy. She should be grateful he hadn't spread it about the school that she was a sniveling child, or tried to ruin her reputation by saying she lured him into it. She made her way back up to Gryffindor Tower, and spent the rest of the night staring at her bed curtains, trying to forget.

Despite his words, though, Draco seemed to be unwilling to simply let it go. Not a week after he'd made his pronouncement, Ginny felt herself being watched as she sat in the library, nose deep in a DADA book. She looked up and met Draco's eyes; he yanked his gaze away, and she dropped her eyes too, but she knew he was having as a hard time forgetting as she was.

It wasn't as though she'd _meant_ to end up crushing on him—if that was what this was. Ginny wasn't sure. This wasn't how she'd felt about Michael, or Dean, or even Harry. It felt like something else entirely, but Ginny had no idea what. She had no experience with this sort of thing. And Draco Malfoy was a snob, a horrible person who delighted in digging up the worst on people, in taunting and tormenting her friends and her brother, who loved nothing more than to hurt people. His family was as horrible as he was—all they had was money and an old name. His father hated hers, hated all Muggles and people who liked Muggles, the worst sort of xenophobe who had bred his hatred into his son. His father had tried to _kill_ her. There was nothing to like about him.

Every single thing about Draco was utterly wrong.

She still watched him though, and he her, whenever they were within sighting distance. Ginny was careful not to be too obvious about it, so that Zoë and Colin wouldn't discover her new fascination with the boy she was supposed to hate, and she guessed Draco was doing the same. Sometimes he wouldn't even look in her direction at all, studiously focusing on something his mountainous bodyguards said, nodding sharply or barking out orders.

Ginny wondered if maybe he was as lonely as she felt most of the time. With only Crabbe and Goyle to talk to, and occasionally that odious Pansy Parkinson and her fawning boyfriend Blaise, Draco couldn't have very many true friends. It was a startling thought, that Draco might be human, that he and she might share something in common besides a fascination with Tom Riddle and a penchant for wandering the halls at night.

Ginny still went out when she couldn't sleep, though she didn't run into Draco, and she didn't go in search of Tom again. It had been a foolish idea and she knew it, and if Draco hadn't stopped her she might be in more serious trouble than she'd bargained for. Even knowing about the boggart in the wardrobe didn't keep her away from her usual haunt; she wasn't going to try that again.

She was pretty sure she was the only person in school to think of the DADA classroom as cozy, but she did, and she liked being able to set up at her usual desk, spread out her things and delve into any one of the fascinating books Professor Delacour had on cursing and hexing.

"I thought you'd given up on coming here."

The slow drawl made Ginny jump, a small squeak escaping her as she whirled around to face the voice. "Malfoy." It was a surprise to see him here—she thought he had planned to avoid her.

"Weasley." Draco sauntered into the room, kicking the door shut behind him as he cast his eyes over the bookshelves. He was impeccably dressed, of course; he always was. His hair neatly brushed, his shoes polished and trousers pressed, his robes hanging just so off the narrow shoulders. Ginny suspected he actually planned out what he was going to wear for his late-night strolls. She kept an eye on him as he made his way toward her, tucked a stray lock of hair behind one ear, and tried to pretend she wasn't sitting here in Ron's old pyjamas and a worn dressing gown.

"This is getting to be habit-forming," she said. "I know why _I_ spend so much time out of bed after hours, but I'm not so sure about you." Draco leaned against the desk across the aisle from her, raising one eyebrow. "Maybe I can't sleep either."

"My mum swears by hot milk—"

Draco made an impatient gesture and she subsided. "I wanted to talk to you." His face was its normal mask of annoyance, pale brows drawn together as he glared at her.

Ginny lifted her chin. "So talk," she said, and brought her legs up onto the bench, resting her chin on her knees. "I'm listening."

But Draco didn't say anything, just stared at her for what seemed like an age. Ginny shifted uncomfortably, growing more and more aware of her unbrushed hair and worn-out hems. Finally he moved, sliding into the seat across the aisle from her. "Tell me about Tom Riddle," he said.

Ginny froze. That wasn't what she'd been expecting—in fact, it was the _last_ thing she'd been expecting, and for a moment she didn't know how to react. "I—I can't."

Draco's eyebrows pulled together in a dark glower. "What do you mean, you can't? I want to know about him."

Ginny bit at her lower lip, smoothing the feathers on her quill. "I just—I can't. I can't talk about him." And there was no way to make him understand why not. It was one thing to tell him that Tom Riddle had been Voldemort, but to tell him anything more would be almost like sacrilege. Tom was _hers_.

"You can't, or you won't?" Draco sneered.

Ginny lifted her head. "Does it matter? The result's the same."

Draco scowled again, and Ginny wondered briefly how she'd ever thought he was sympathetic. "Why don't you just tell me what I want to know," he said, biting off each word. "Since you've probably told enough people already, I don't see why telling me will make any difference."

"I haven't told anyone," Ginny said. She wouldn't even have told him, except that he'd caught her when she was off centre and desperately needing to talk to someone.

"No? You haven't shared your little tale of woe with all your little Gryffindor friends? I thought that was what Gryffindors did, sit about and _talk_ about things." Draco's voice was derisive and hard-edged. "I'll wager you have, sat about and talked to Potter and your brother about it. Haven't you?" He snorted as Ginny shook her head. "You've told _Harry_ all about it, I'll bet. Don't tell me you wouldn't rather have himhere now, running to your rescue, talking with you."

"No, I wouldn't rather have Harry here!" Ginny snapped. "Harry's too—" _too special_, she was going to say, but Draco was so prickly he wouldn't take that at all well. Ginny took a deep breath and tried again. "This hasn't anything to do with Harry, and there's no reason why I should tell him anything. He doesn't care, anyway."

Draco laughed harshly. "No, he doesn't, does he? Who would?"

Ginny had vowed she wasn't going to lose her temper, but she was having trouble. Draco could probably argue with a rock. "You're here, aren't you?" she said.

"Only because you're useful to me," he said coldly. "As soon as you tell me everything I want to know, I assure you I won't bother you anymore."

"That's why you're here? Because I'm useful? Slumming?" Ginny asked, tilting her chin. She refused to let that thought hurt. She knew full well that slumming was exactly what Draco was doing. He only wanted her for information—he had his pick of the Slytherin girls for everything else, girls of impeccable breeding, who were decidedly not poor, and mostly a fair sight prettier than she was.

Draco opened his mouth and then shut it again, showing more sensitivity than she would have given him credit for. He spun around and stalked up the aisle to the chalkboard, studying Professor Delacour's neat notes as though they held the answers he wanted. Finally he turned back to face her. "Why do you come here?"

Ginny blinked at the sudden subject change. "Well, why not? It's quiet, it's out of the common room, Professor Delacour doesn't mind...it's a bit cold, but a warming spell or two sets that to rights." She tried to keep her voice light in the face of Draco's shuttered expression.

"That's not what I meant."

Ginny dropped her eyes and shrugged. "Maybe there isn't any other reason."

"Maybe you're just afraid to tell me." Draco approached her desk again, sliding onto the bench of the desk in front of her. He propped his elbows up on the edge of her table and slouched forward. It was the first time Ginny had ever seen him with less than perfect posture. "Maybe," Draco continued, "you don't want to admit why you come here, out of all the places in the castle you could go to hide."

"Oh, and I suppose you know?" Ginny said, needled by his tone. "Why don't you tell me, then, since you know so much."

"It makes you feel powerful, doesn't it?" Draco said softly. "You were blindsided by Dark magic once, and you don't want it to ever happen again. You come here, out of all the places in the castle you could go, because here is where you feel safest."

Ginny stared at him, searching his shielded gray eyes for some sign as to how he had guessed that. Because it was _true_; she loved the DADA classroom because, encounter with her Tom-shaped boggart aside, it was the one place she didn't feel out of her depth. She cleared her throat and shrugged. "Maybe it is."

"What I don't understand is why you bother," Draco said, his voice tinged with malice. "It isn't as though you need to be good at DADA, is it? You've got a horde of brothers to protect you, as well as Potter, don't you?"

A bolt of rage swept through her. Ginny pushed her bench away from the desk, slamming her feet down on the ground. "I'm not going to spend the rest of my life being someone who needs to be rescued! Just because _you_ are perfectly happy to be spoon-fed ideas and thoughts without ever questioning the direction you're being led in, doesn't mean that _I_ have to be."

Draco smirked, leaning back and tossing his hair out of his eyes. It'd got long and this late at night it had begun to lose its style and fell over his forehead in a pale wave. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited, long enough for Ginny to feel slightly foolish for her outburst. "I'm not being spoon-fed, Weasley."

"No? You're _not_ letting your father lead you around by the nose, believing everything he tells you because you can't think for yourself?"

Draco stood up and came around the desk to lean casually against it. "I expect you'd know a bit more about being led around by someone than I would, Weasley," he said. "After all, it's all you ever do, isn't it? Follow other people around? Harry, your brother, Tom..."

Ginny recoiled, unprepared for the sheer viciousness of what he was saying. "You _bastard_," she whispered. She'd only told him about Tom because she had no one else to tell. She should have expected him to use it againsther.

Draco's nasty smile widened. "Poor, sad little Ginny, who can't do anything for herself. You're going to spend the rest of your life in empty classrooms, hiding behind other people because you can't do anything else."

And the worst thing was, Ginny thought he was right. But she wasn't going to tell him that, wasn't going to give him anything else he could use against her. There wasn't anything she could say that he wouldn't find a way to twist around and use against her later, so Ginny went for a different sort of retaliation.

She hit him.

~*~

Draco bent double around the fist Ginny planted in his abdomen. "You vicious little _cunt_!" he gasped, when he had enough breath to speak.

Contrary to his expectation, Ginny wasn't looking terribly worried about his well-being. Pansy would have been fawning all over him, concerned that he was going to die. Of course, Pansy would never have hit him in the first place. Ginny, however, was standing over him with her hands on her hips, glaring. "You fucking sod. Maybe if you weren't such a horrible bastard, you'd be someone people actually _want_ to spend time with, did you ever think of that? No wonder you don't have any real friends."

Draco straightened up—painfully—and glared back. "And maybe if you weren't such a horrid bint you wouldn't need to spend all your time hiding out in empty classrooms avoiding people."

"If I'm as horrid as you say I am, why do you keep following me around?" Ginny retorted. "For someone who claims not to like me, Malfoy, you do seem to have made a habit of showing up wherever I am."

"What, you think I'm following you?" He was, actually, but he wouldn't admit it to _her_. It was hard enough admitting to himself that he couldn't seem to stop watching the bloody girl. Asking her about Tom Riddle was just a convenient excuse. "It's not my fault you're so bloody predictable. No wonder you're so hung up on Tom, he's the only one who'd ever paid any attention to you."

For a moment Draco thought she was going to hit him again, but she didn't. She curled her hands into fists, and her face twisted up into a terrible expression, but she didn't hit him. "I suppose you'd think so," she said. "Though I don't know why you think you're so superior. The only reason anyone pays any attention to _you_ is because your father's well off."

Draco snorted. "That's not true."

She laughed—she actually laughed at him. "Of course it's true. If you weren't a Malfoy and were as horrible as you are, do you really think anyone would ever talk to you at all? Of course not. No one wants to be around someone who's awful, and they only do it because of who your father is, and how much money he's got."

"That sounds a lot like jealousy talking, Weasley," Draco said. "Just because you don't _have_ any—"

"I've got more important things than money," she replied haughtily. "I've got a family who cares about me, and friends—"

"I thought we'd established that you don't have any friends," Draco drawled. He was regaining his footing now, and he wasn't about to let her get the better of him.

Ginny glared at him. "Neither do you."

He honestly didn't know where she got her ideas from. "Of course I do. Everyone wants to be friends with me."

"That's not friends," Ginny said. "That's people taking advantage of you because you're well-off and your father's seen as powerful. Friends is having people you can tell things to without worrying they'll use it against you, it's having people to laugh with and cry with and do things with so you don't have to do it by yourself. Like Harry and—"

"Oh, of course. Like _Harry_. Because if the wonderful Harry Potter does it, then everyone ought to," Draco snarled.

Ginny's eyes narrowed, but she continued as if he hadn't interrupted her. "—Ron and Hermione. They're real friends, they stick up for each other and share things with each other, and they aren't nasty to each other just for the sake of being nasty. They're not friends just because they think there's something to be gained."

"Not that there would be anything to be gained by being friends with a _Weasley_," Draco said, stung.

Ginny crossed her arms coolly and leaned back against the desk. "There must be something. After all, Harry isn't friends with _you_, is he?"

Draco went blank with rage. That she would have the _gall_ to throw that in his face, that she knew about it and dared to bring it up... Draco stalked forward without thinking to grab her by the arms. He shook her, hard, pleased to see that she at least had the wits to look afraid. He wanted to hit her, wanted to _hurt_ her, destroy her, get her out of his life and out of his mind so that he'd never have to think about her or her stupid family or her stupid past again. _She_ was the one that had started all of this, _she_ was the one who had him questioning everything that was right and true in his world, _she_ was the one who made him look at everyone he trusted and see that maybe it wasn't worth trusting at all.

Ginny braced her hands against his chest and tossed her hair out of her eyes, red curls sliding over her shoulders and across his fingers in soft waves. "So what? Are you going to hit me now? Are you going to lower yourself to that, _Draco_? Hitting a girl?"

Her face was set in defiant lines, and Draco wondered what she'd do if he really did hit her. But he wouldn't. He wouldn't stoop to hitting girls, no matter the temptation. That sort of thing was Not Done. She was so ill bred she didn't know it—her chin was tilted at a confident angle and her body was tense and braced for violence. Draco felt his mouth curl up in a smile, and Ginny blanched. "No, _Ginny_. I'm not going to hit you."

He yanked her forward—she stumbled and caught herself against his chest—and kissed her instead.

~*~

Ginny had been braced for him to hit her, expecting it—maybe Malfoy wasn't used to physical violence, but she'd grown up with six boys and she knew a bit about fighting. She figured she could take him if she had to.

But she wasn't prepared for _this_.

He pressed his mouth against hers, hard and angry, but the kiss changed almost at once as something ignited between them. It was like fire, frustration and passion burning through them both, making it impossible to let go, impossible to stop. Ginny barely noticed when Draco loosened his grip on her arms and moved his hands up over her shoulders and down across her back. He pulled her firmly against him, his mouth opening against hers. Ginny moaned softly in spite of herself, and Draco gasped in turn, sliding his tongue along her lip, deepening the kiss.

Ginny clutched at his shoulders, light-headed and unbalanced. He felt so solid, the only real thing in the maelstrom of emotion swirling inside her, his hands and mouth her only anchor. Draco moved his hands to her hips and lifted her up to set her on the desk behind her, his lips never leaving hers. He pushed her legs apart so he could move between her knees. Ginny let her eyes drift closed—having him there made her feel hot, shaken and empty and wanting.

Draco dropped one hand to rest on her thigh, just above her knee. His finger found the worn hole there and slipped inside her pyjama trouser, stroking the soft skin with calloused fingers that made Ginny shiver in reaction. She made a small, helpless noise in her throat and pulled him even closer. She didn't know it could be like this—this sort of passion was what you read about in books, she hadn't ever believed it could be real. She wanted him closer yet, wanted more than just these deep, drugging kisses that left her shaking.

Draco's hand tightened almost painfully on her leg and he pulled away, buried his face in her shoulder with a groan. "_Shit_," he muttered, his breath hot against her neck.

Ginny shivered at the sensation, even that light touch too much. She felt sensitized, every inch of her skin tuned to Draco's movements, his touch, his smell, his taste. She had never felt anything like this before. Even the first time he'd kissed her, that night he'd found her looking for the boggart, had been nothing at all like _this_. Draco turned his head and pressed his mouth against the side of her neck, nuzzling her skin. It made her shiver again, and arch her neck to give him more room to explore if he wanted. And he did, trailing little kisses and bites up her neck, tracing a delicate line around the rim of her ear with his tongue, nipping her earlobe and making her squeak.

She felt his soft chuckle, the brush of his lips against her ear, and then his mouth was on hers again, his hands buried in her hair as he tilted her head and kissed her fully. Her own hands traced the firm curves of his shoulder blades, sliding over the soft fabric of his sweater. It felt so good, frighteningly so, left her breathless and wanting more.

And then Draco pushed away from her, backing up a few steps. His hair was disheveled, his normally neat clothes disordered, and he looked as shaken as she felt. "Shit," he said again, and closed his eyes.

Ginny swallowed hard against the desire to pull him back, steadied herself with a deep breath, and slid to the ground. Her knees felt buttery, as though they wouldn't hold her. She clutched the edge of the desk and willed herself to stop shaking. "Um," she said, and cleared her throat. "I don't think—"

"This wasn't supposed to happen again," Draco said. He shoved a hand through his hair and turned away from her.

"_You_ kissed _me_, Malfoy," Ginny snapped. She couldn't seem to stop her hands from trembling. "Remember?"

Draco spun around, and he looked angrier than she'd yet seen him. "I did _not_ ask for this!" he snarled. "Everything was fine until _you_ came along with your stupid boggart! I should never have gotten involved!"

"Then why did you?" Ginny shot back. "Why didn't you just leave it alone, leave me alone? I didn't ask you to go prying about in my business!"

"Because no one ever tells me anything! Father won't, Snape won't, _you_ won't—"

"Why should I? Why should I tell you _anything_, when you're just going to use it to be a bastard? Everything that happened with Tom is _personal_ and it's got nothing to do with you. You don't deserve to know!" Ginny brushed her hair out of her face, the anger surging through her putting strength back in her legs. "All you've done is be nasty and insult me, but you seem to think you've got some sort of right to know everything about me! Well you _don't_!"

"What makes you think I'm really interested in _you_? All I want is to _know_ about what's going on!" Draco pushed his hair back again; it was irredeemably mussed now, and made him look strangely approachable. "Damn it, I'm sick of being the only one around here who doesn't know anything!"

Ginny laughed shortly. "What, you mean you don't want to be just like everyone else?"

The look he turned on her was vicious, and Ginny wondered if he'd hit her now. But he didn't; he spun around again and kicked the leg of the closest desk, making a huge racket as it skittered a few inches across the polished stone floor. The noise made Ginny glance toward the door nervously. If Filch caught them out here, they'd both get in serious trouble. "Look," she said finally, when Draco showed no sign of moving, "I've already told you everything I'm going to tell you. If it isn't what you wanted to know, that's not my fault."

"Fine," Draco said, and his voice was brittle with anger, "fine." He spun around again, two spots of red on his cheekbones. He glared at her for a moment, then stalked out of the classroom, slamming the door behind him.

Ginny jumped despite herself at the noise and sighed, bending to pick her books up off the desk and put them back in her bag. She'd have to go back to the Tower; it was even odds that Filch would be attracted to the noise, and if he was, she'd lose House points and no doubt have to explain to Ron how she'd come to be out after hours. She shoved the last of her books away and shouldered her bag, slipping out the door to make her careful way back up to Gryffindor Tower.

~*~

Draco spent the whole rest of the week angry and unsettled. It interfered with his studies and threw off his Quidditch game on Saturday—they were only playing Hufflepuff and won easily anyway, but that wasn't the point. It was affecting his _flying._ If he couldn't even put it aside while he was on the Pitch, then he really was hopeless. Here it was Christmas holidays, and instead of feeling grateful that the year was almost half over and his new life, his _real_ life was approaching, Draco was growing more and more unsure. He sat in his train compartment with a book propped up in front of him that he was only pretending to read; his thoughts returned again and again to Voldemort, to the coming war, to everything Father had ever told him that he'd found out wasn't true.

He was giving Ginny a large berth, too ill at ease to deal with the conflicting feelings she engendered in him. She was so incredibly frustrating; secretive and guarded beyond reason, hiding her secrets so well that Draco didn't think anyone realized she even had any to hide. That he knew she had them and refused to tell him left Draco wanting to shake them out of her. Except the last time he'd tried that tactic...Draco shook his head in frustration. He didn't want to think about it.

The worst of it was she wasn't even _pretty_. Pansy was far more attractive, but Draco didn't find himself staring at Pansy all the time. Instead he searched the halls for a telltale glimpse of curling red hair, found his eyes drawn to the Gryffindor table at meals where she sat with those little nonentitiesshe called friends, caught himself absently brushing his fingers across his lips at odd moments, remembering what it had felt like to kiss her.

Draco frowned and yanked his hand away for the umpteenth time, glancing out the window of the compartment door for a sign that someone had spotted him. None of his house-mates had said anything about his distraction during the game on Saturday, but it hadn't gone unnoticed. Nothing ever went unnoticed in Slytherin; it got catalogued and filed away for future use. Draco clenched his jaw and lifted his book, pushing all thought of Ginny out of his head. He didn't have time for this, not with things the way they were.

And he actually managed it, for a little while; by the time the train pulled into King's cross he'd finished his Potions homework and written a full scroll for his Transfigurations essay. He met Father on the platform, nodded to Zabini, Crabbe and Goyle and they went out to the Ministry car. Father borrowed one every time he needed to travel in Muggle London, and complained bitterly every time he had to.

The trip to the manor was mercifully quiet; Father seemed deep in thought, and Draco wasn't about to disturb him. Mother was waiting for them in the drawing room, and greeted Draco with her usual smiling reserve. "You look well, Mother," Draco said as he bent to kiss her cheek.

"Thank you darling. You look wonderful...look at how tall you've gotten!" Mother replied; she said that every time she saw him. "I had the cook make your favourites for supper."

"Thank you, Mother," Draco replied. "You're too good to me."

"Nothing's too good for my son," Mother said. Her face was as cool and polite as ever, but her eyes warmed as she tucked her arm in his and steered him toward the dining room.

They dined alone, a rare free night in a season that was usually packed with parties and social events, and Mother insisted on hearing about his term in minute detail, following Draco's words with great interest. Father's talk of Ministry business and politics must have been wearing thin for her.

Draco begged off after the meal and retired to his own suite, worn down from the train journey and his own dark thoughts. It was such a relief to be home, with his own room, his own bath, his own huge bed with its down-filled duvet and fine Egyptian cotton sheets, nothing at all like the narrow cots they had at Hogwarts. Draco flopped onto the bed with a satisfied sound, relaxing completely for the first time since...well. In a very long time. Draco sighed and got up, shucking his school robes in favour of pyjamas, and crawled into bed, determined to put all thought of school out of his mind for the rest of his holiday.

*

He woke from a vague, unsettling dream of being caught and tangled in crimson hair, of a cupid's bow mouth so close to his own he could taste its sweetness, of clear brown eyes shining at him as that mouth touched his, long hair brushing his bare chest with a thousand tickling strands—Draco gasped, his hands clutching at the bedclothes, and groaned aloud when they closed on cool sheets instead of soft, warm flesh.

The damned girl couldn't even leave him alone in his _dreams_.

Draco pulled his pillow over his head and burrowed under the covers, but he knew trying to get back to sleep was pointless. Not when _she_ was lying in wait for him across the border of sleep. Draco unburied his head and glared at his bed-curtains in the weak light that filtered in through his windows. It was barely 7 o'clock and it would be hours before Father and Mother awoke and the servants arrived to build up the fires and serve breakfast. He hadn't been up this early for Christmas since he was a young boy.

He pushed back his covers with a sigh; he could always do the rest of his school assignments while he waited. There was the promise of a trip to the European Quidditch Cup if he did well on his NEWTs, and Draco had no intention of losing out on it.

Father and Mother rose a few hours later, and Draco joined them in the drawing room for breakfast and the ritual of present opening. The excitement of gifts had worn off as Draco got older, but he was still thrilled to find that the long package that clearly held a new broom was, in fact, the very latest model, a Firebolt 2000. Mother smiled indulgently when he couldn't contain a small whoop of excitement. "I thought you'd like that, dear."

"I love it, Mother. Thank you." Draco got up from his seat on the couch to kiss her on the cheek. "And thank you, Father." Father nodded without taking his eyes from the paper. Draco sat back down and ran his hand over the smooth, pale handle, savouring the satin feel of the wood.

"And this will be the last we see of you all holiday unless we're willing to brave the out-of-doors, isn't it?" Mother said. Draco grinned unrepentantly and she laughed. "I thought so. Just don't forget we have dinner with the Gainsboroughs tonight, so do try to be inside and presentable by six."

"Of course, Mother," he said. The rest of Draco's presents were typically boring; new dress robes, a set of monogrammed quills, socks from his grandmother. He spent enough time making small talk with Mother to make her happy, then escaped outside to spend a few hours on his new broom. Draco practiced every move he could think of, pushing the Firebolt as far as he dared with Mother no doubt watching him from the sunroom windows. He couldn't wait to show the new broom to Crabbe and Goyle, couldn't wait to get back to school now, just to see the look on Potter's face when he saw that Draco had the superior broom. Perhaps he'd even manage to beat the speccy git for once, and Draco could end his year on a definite high note—grabbing the Snitch and the Quidditch Cup right out from under the scarred freak's nose.

Draco made it back inside with minutes to spare before they had to leave for the Gainsboroughs' dinner party. He rushed through his toilette and arrived in the foyer slightly breathless but presentable, unable to keep the grin from breaking through. Mother brushed his hair back with an exasperated sigh and Father glared, but it was a small price to pay for an afternoon of absolute freedom.

The party was as boring as Draco had come to expect; he wasn't sure when the endless social whirl had started making him fidgety and longing to be elsewhere, but over the next few days, after seeing the same few people talking about the same boring things, Draco found himself actually longing to be back at Hogwarts. He spent most of his days either outside on his new broom or in his suite, doing homework or the research about Voldemort that he couldn't make himself stop.

Mother forced him into the drawing room after dinner a few days before he was due to return to school. "I haven't been able to talk to you at all, all holiday, Draco. It wouldn't hurt for you to spend one evening with your parents before you return to school."

Draco sighed inwardly. He wanted to get back to his books—even Mother was boring him, though he wouldn't ever admit that out loud. "Of course, Mother."

Mother smiled graciously at him while he settled himself on the sofa. Father was at his desk, reading the evening _Prophet_, and as soon as the footman had handed Mother her cup of tea, she turned to him. "I hear there's been an attack on Diagon Alley," she said, as though she were commenting on the weather. Draco sat up straight in surprise. Mother lifted her teacup to her lips in a practiced, dainty movement, barely sipping the warm liquid.

"Yes," Father replied. "I hear it was very well planned out." His voice was neutral; Draco guessed he was somehow involved, but Mother didn't like to hear details about Father's activities with the Dark Lord. Draco dropped his eyes, trying not to appear too interested, but he was listening intently. _He_ hadn't heard about any attack.

"How many were killed?" Mother asked.

"Some bystanders, one or two Ministry officials, or so I've heard. And Goyle's son, apparently."

"Greg Goyle?" Draco repeated. He sat up straight, turning to look at Father. How had Goyle come to be there? Surely someone must have told the Goyles about an attack on Diagon Alley. He wanted to ask what had happened, but Father's expression forbade question.

"Oh, his poor mother," Mother said. "She must be feeling terrible. What a pity." She dabbed at the corner of one dry eye with her handkerchief. She probably didn't feel sorry at all—how many times had she complained about having to associate with the Goyles?

"Collateral damage," Father said coldly. "They knew about the attack, and if the boy didn't have the sense to stay out of the way, he deserved what he got."

Draco swallowed hard. Shouldn't Father feel even the slightest bit of remorse? For all his faults, Goyle was one of theirs. He wasn't some random mudblood, some Muggle-loving fool—well, Draco would concede the 'fool' part—Goyle had been one of _them_. But pity was something Father only did for show. Draco knew it, but it still felt...wrong, knowing Goyle was dead and feeling nothing.

Mother excused herself and vanished into the hall, but when Draco went to follow her, Father waved him to stay. Draco fixed a bland expression on his face and waited as Father paced to the window, brandy snifter cupped in his palm, looking out over the moonlit snow.

"I hear from Basil Parkinson that young Blaise Zabini is stepping out with his daughter," Father said. "Which I find...somewhat unusual."

Draco struggled not to betray any nervousness. "Not so unusual," he said casually. "They've grown quite attached to each other."

"And why," Father asked, his voice acquiring an edge, "would she not have grown attached to you?"

Draco shrugged. "I was bored of her. She's very tiresome, Father."

"Tiresome or no, her father is well placed in the Ministry, and an alliance with their house would have been quite favourable," Father snapped. He looked on the verge of a temper. "How many times have I told you that you must grow out of this childish willfulness? There are important concessions you are going to have to learn to make, Draco, for the Malfoy name to continue to represent the peak of wizarding society."

"I didn't know the Parkinsons were the peak of anything," Draco drawled. If Father thought Draco thought he'd made a mistake with Pansy, Father would leap on the weakness with the ferocity of a thousand dragons. He slouched a little in his chair and tried to look unaffected, watching Father watch him.

"Perhaps they don't have the same sort of lineage that we have, Draco, but they have their uses, which should be cultivated. If you can win the girl back, do so."

Draco nodded because Father expected it. He wouldn't do it, and Father would assume it was some sort of weakness and berate him for it again later, but being lectured by Father now was preferable to being lectured by Pansy for the rest of his life. Ginny, at least, never tried to lecture him—and Draco sat up a little straighter. He was _not_ going to think about _her_. Not here. Not now.

Father turned to the window again, the diamond panes reflecting firelight back on his aquiline face as he looked out over the Manor grounds. "It's important to maintain appearances," he said softly, "for someday...someday we will rule." His eyes gleamed in the fading light; a faint, satisfied smile lifted the corner of his mouth. "All of Britain will be ours, Draco. All of it."

Draco didn't know what Father expected him to say. He settled for nodding, more out of habit than anything else. Father turned away from the window and gestured at Draco with his glass. "Go back to your studies. I expect you to do well on your NEWTs this year—much depends on you."

"Of course, Father." Draco bowed slightly and made his way out of the study. He went back up to his suite and lay on his bed, but he didn't open his books. He stared into the shadows of his bed curtains instead, and didn't sleep that night.

~*~

Ginny poked at her peas and wondered if she should be worried.

The Great Hall was full of subdued students, talking quietly or eating in silence, an air of suppressed tension about the tables. A curfew had been in place at Hogwarts since Christmas—no students were allowed out of their common rooms after hours or out of doors without a teacher present, and the strain was showing in everyone's faces.

Draco looked as stressed as anyone, white-faced and silent ever since he returned from holiday, three weeks ago. The whole school had heard about Goyle and while no one quite felt sorry for Draco, they still gave him space on the off chance he was grieving the loss of his bodyguard. Both his bodyguards, really; Crabbe had gone off to Durmstrang for the rest of the semester. Ginny dearly wanted to know what had happened, how he was really feeling—it was a strange desire, considering how nasty he'd been the last time they talked, but she couldn't help it.

He never watched her anymore, not so she could catch him, anyway. Sometimes Ginny could feel the weight of his eyes on her, but he always turned away before she could meet his stare.

She didn't know if she were happy about that or not.

Ginny sighed and hitched her bag higher on her shoulder. Colin and Zoë were just ahead, making their way back to Gryffindor Tower before the curfew came into effect, and she listened with half an ear to their soft conversation. She glanced down a side corridor as she passed it, and froze.

Draco was at the far end, alone, striding purposefully in a direction that couldn't possibly lead back to the Slytherin common room.

Ginny wavered, glancing ahead at Zoë and Colin, who hadn't noticed her pause. She should just carry on back to Gryffindor, it wasn't any of her business what Draco got up to on his own, and she couldn't break curfew besides. She looked back down the hall, just in time to see Draco vanish through an archway, his black robes flaring out behind him.

Ginny shouldered her bag, and with a last glance at her friends' retreating backs, raced down the hallway after him.

The archway Draco had passed through led to a short hallway that ended in a set of stairs. There was another hallway at the top, curving slightly away. Draco was nowhere in sight, but there weren't any rooms off this hall, and there was nowhere he could have gone but forward. Ginny shrugged mentally and followed it, her footfalls nearly silent on the flagstones. She stopped short as the corridor straightened out again; Draco was at the far end, and though he hadn't spotted her, if he turned his head even a little he most certainly would.

Ginny hung back as he turned and went through another archway, and moved forward slowly once the edge of his robes had disappeared through the arch. Without stopping to consider, she darted up the hall and onto the staircase, her thin shoes silent on the stone risers. She stayed just out of sight beyond the curve of the spiral, frowning as she climbed. Except for Draco's footprints the dust lay undisturbed, the stones of the stairwell unworn by the passage of hands. Ginny wasn't quite sure where this tower was, but it was obviously unused. Perhaps it wasn't surprising; Hogwarts had so many half-abandoned places it would be impossible to find them all.

Ginny stopped just around the last curve as she heard the sound of a door opening. She didn't hear it shut, and peeked cautiously around the edge of the spiral. The stair ended at a rough wooden door, hanging half open. A faint cool breeze swept around her, and Ginny stepped up the remaining stairs cautiously.

The door opened into an equally old and disused room, lined with diamond-paned casement windows, the heavy glass cracked and missing in places. It was thick with dust and nearly empty, one or two ancient pieces of furniture scattered about the round room. Draco was standing by one of the windows, his back to her, apparently engrossed by the view. Ginny shifted nervously, unsure if she should disturb him or turn back. Colin and Zoë were probably wondering where she was.

"What do you want?"

Ginny jumped. He hadn't even moved his head; she had no idea how he knew she was there. "I was just—"

"Following me around? That's a bit of a switch, isn't it, Weasley?" Draco shifted, tracing the outline of one of the glass panes with a long finger.

"I didn't mean to—I just thought I'd see if you—"

"If I what? If I were all _right_?" he asked scornfully. "Well I'm fine, so why don't you run along and bother someone else?"

Ginny bit her lip in frustration as he interrupted her again. He was so impossible, she didn't know why she bothered. "Look, I just wanted to say that I'm sorry. About Goyle, I mean." Draco shrugged one shoulder, but he didn't turn around. Ginny swallowed hard, rubbing at her hands. Surely he must feel badly...Goyle had been his friend. Not the best sort of candidate for friendship, but that didn't change the fact that Draco had been close to him. Hadn't he?

"How nice to know you care," Draco sneered. He turned his head halfway, not quite looking at her. The moonlight reflecting through the window outlined his profile in silvery blue, as though he were molded out of some precious metal. "You're probably the only one who does."

"Does that mean I shouldn't?" Ginny asked.

Draco rolled his eyes and turned away from her, apparently determined to ignore her until she went away. Ginny stepped further into the room, her eyes on Draco's motionless back. She knew she should just go, leave him to his brooding and be rid of him once and for all, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. He _was_ feeling badly, he must be, and she couldn't bear to just leave, not when she might be able to help. Ginny used the edge of her robe to wipe a layer of dust off a rickety stool and sat down, ready to wait him out.

Another boy might have shifted uncomfortably or tried to make her leave; Draco just stood, unselfconsciously leaning against the stone wall as though she weren't there. He wasn't traditionally attractive, really, not in the way that Harry was, or Seamus, or Lane Hyde from Ravenclaw, who was the cutest boy in Ginny's year. Draco had a sort of refinement that those other boys didn't, an elegance and unconscious grace that manifested in every move he made, every tilt of his head or shift of his shoulders.

"I suppose you think I should feel terribly, don't you."

His scornful voice was loud in the stillness and Ginny started, gathering her distracted thoughts. "You can feel however you like," she replied. "But I thought you might feel... sad. He was your friend, wasn't he?"

Draco shrugged again. "Does it matter? He was just...collateral damage," he said bitterly.

Ginny stared at him, her mouth falling open in horror. "How can you say that?"

"That," Draco said, snapping out the words, "is what my father said when it happened. That if Goyle didn't have the sense to stay out of the way then he deserved what he got."

Ginny didn't know how anyone could think that, couldn't imagine what it must be like to live with a father that would say such things. Her own parents had been so terribly saddened when the attack happened, so upset that someone Ron's age had been killed, and Dad didn't even _like_ Mr. Goyle. "And you _believe_ him?"

"I don't know!" Draco spun around, his eyes flashing in the pale light. "I've thought about it, all right? I've done nothing _but_ think about it, since it happened and _I don't know_. Goyle was an idiot. The only reason he managed to pass his courses is because I'd give him my notes, he could barely string two words together, and if he'd had any sense he would have stayed well away from Diagon Alley that day. But he _didn't_. And now he's _dead_ and I don't know if he deserved it or not!" He turned his head away, and Ginny could see the tension in his body, a muscle working in his jaw as he swallowed. "Father always said that everything he did was to make things better, that he wanted a better world, and that he was doing what he could to see that done. Anything that happens, then, is just —" Draco's voice cracked, and he turned away completely, leaning into the wall beside the window."It's justified, because nothing matters except the goal."

Ginny jumped to her feet, knocking the rickety stool over. "That's just—that's the most horrible thing I've ever heard! People aren't _expendable_! And before you say it, it doesn't matter if I liked him or not, that's not the point," she said, as Draco drew breath to retort. "The point is that whatever he was like, he didn't deserve to die just because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time!"

"Why not?" Draco's voice was muffled, caught and dampened by the glass. He raised one hand to rest it against the cool panes, palm flat against the window. "What difference does it make if he died or not? He was stupid, and his death doesn't matter, because it isn't important to Father's goals."

Ginny waited, half-breathless. This was the first inkling she'd had that he didn't believe the things his father told him, that he really cared about something or someone other than himself. Draco curled his hand into a fist against the window. "Goyle died just because he didn't know to stay out of the way. And it doesn't matter how I feel about it, because I'm not supposed to care that he died. Anyone who knows me will say that it's odd that I do care. Who was Goyle, but some stupid child? He didn't _matter_." His voice sank to a whisper, so that Ginny had to take a step forward to hear. "If he didn't matter, then who else doesn't? Who else is _expendable_?" He curled in on himself a little, and drew his hand away from the window. "What am I supposed to do?"

"What do you want to do?" Ginny asked, half-afraid to hear the answer.

"I don't know," he whispered, almost inaudible. Ginny got up without thinking and crossed to the window. She rested her hand on his arm, trying to give him even this small comfort, to let him know he wasn't alone in this.

"Don't," he whispered, but he leaned into her hand, his head dropping forward to rest against the windowpane. Ginny answered the gesture and not his words, sliding her arms around his waist, her cheek against his angular shoulder blade. Draco tensed and took one deep, shuddering breath, his hands reaching down to grasp her wrists with long fingers. He loosened her arms and turned to cup her face in his hands, his fingers curling in the hair behind her ears. He brushed her mouth with one thumb and Ginny inhaled sharply as the gesture sent sparks along her nerves. Draco's eyes were wide and dark, fixed on her mouth with a burning intensity that made Ginny want to shiver.

The kiss, when it came, was almost too much for her to bear—her blood turned to fire, desire crackling through her and pooling in her chest, making it next to impossible to breathe. Ginny moaned into Draco's mouth when he slid his hands down her neck and onto her shoulders, caressing them though the threadbare fabric of her robe. She moved her own hands, wrapping one around his neck and the other around his waist, pulling him closer yet. She wanted more than just his mouth on hers, she wanted him to touch her as he had the last time, wanted to feel his hands on her unhindered by cloth.

Draco groaned low in his throat and rocked his hips against her; the movement sent a bolt of sensation through her and made her knees weak. Ginny gasped and pulled away, frightened by the intensity of her emotions. Draco stared at her for a moment, wild-eyed, then lowered his head to her shoulder. "We can't do this," he said into her hair.

"I know," Ginny whispered back. She buried her face in his robes, half-afraid, half-wishing she didn't have to let go. They couldn't do this, it was impossible, however much she wanted to deny it, wanted to hide away and acknowledge that any world outside this room existed.

She wasn't even sure what they _had_.

Draco pulled away first, his normal arrogant expression sliding back into place with each step he took away from her. Whatever confusion he was feeling now, it was hidden behind his public facade. "Don't expect this to happen again, Weasley," he said, with a shadow of his normal drawl.

Ginny let out a choked laugh. "Oh, right. I'll make a note. You're not going to snog me again."

He thinned his lips and glared at her. "You know what I meant."

Ginny backed up a few steps, wrapping her arms around herself with a sigh. "Yes, I know what you meant."

"Good." Draco stared at her, seemingly torn between anger and confusion. Maybe he got so angry because he didn't know how else to deal with her—Ginny couldn't decide if that were a reassuring thought or not. He pushed past her as he stalked toward the door, straight-backed and arrogant as ever, as though he hadn't been distraught only minutes before.

Ginny turned to watch him go, unable to quiet the nagging feeling that there was something more she should do, another way she could help. "Draco, wait."

He stopped and half-turned to look at her over his shoulder, his eyes shadowed so that she couldn't tell what he was thinking. "What?"

Ginny clutched at the edges of her robes, twining her fingers in the fabric. "Just—if you ever need it. We live in Devon, near Ottery St. Catchpole, you can find it on the Floo maps. We'll help you."

He laughed at that, a harsh, despairing sound. "I'm sure your family would welcome me with open arms."

"I will," Ginny said. "I promise."

"And Gryffindors never lie."

Ginny bit her lip, trying to will him to believe her. "Not about this. Just—please. Don't ever think that you haven't anywhere else to go."

Draco stared at her for a long moment, his face half in shadow. "All right."

Ginny watched helplessly as he disappeared down the stair. She had tried her best—anything else was up to him.

~*~

Draco refused to think about it.

He blocked the conversation from his mind. He sat with his back to the Gryffindor table so he wouldn't have to look, took the long way to half of his classes so he wouldn't cross paths with her, treated Potter, Weasley and Granger as though they didn't exist. Thinking about Ginny and her little mystery boy and her problems was what had led him to this pass in the first place; so confused he didn't know what to believe anymore, thinking things that bordered on treason to the family name, unable to concentrate on his schoolwork, or his classmates' conversations, or Quidditch, or anything.

It was sometime after Easter—Draco wasn't exactly sure of the date, only that the days were getting warmer and everyone in seventh year was getting annoyingly frantic. Blaise and Pansy were sitting at one of the long tables in the common room, books piled up around them haphazardly as they bent their heads together, studying. Draco watched them disinterestedly. Pansy must have noticed—she looked up and caught his eye.

"Aren't you working on your homework?" she asked. Blaise looked up as well, cold curiosity in his dark eyes.

Draco shrugged. "No."

"Draco, NEWTs are in just a few weeks. Hasn't your father promised to take you to the European Cup if you do well?" Pansy asked. Draco nodded absently, and she put her hands on her hips. "Well then, don't you think you ought to _study_?"

"Probably."

She pursed her lips disapprovingly. "I suppose it's your funeral." She and Blaise exchanged glances, and suddenly sick of watching them, Draco pushed himself to his feet.

"I'm going to the library," he said, and left the common room. He didn't go to the library, of course—it too was over-run with studying seventh-years, and if Draco wasn't up to watching Pansy and Blaise, he certainly wasn't up to facing a room full of hostile stares. He followed the long stairs down to the dock where the first year boats landed and sat there, staring out at the lake until the sun set below the hills and the castle lit up window by window, the lights reflecting off the black water in rippling patterns.

*

The end of the school year came...

And went.

Nothing happened, except that there wasn't a Leaving celebration in Hogsmeade this year for fear of attack. Potter walked around looking distracted and tense, his stupid sidekicks trailing behind him like ducklings. All three of them took to watching him as though they were expecting him to do something, though Draco didn't know what. They weren't nearly as informed as they thought they were if they believed he was truly involved in any sort of planning. With his marks the way they were, he'd be lucky if Father would even let him out of the Manor this summer.

The train ride back to King's Cross was a tense affair for everyone, and Draco spent all of it alone in a compartment near the back of the train. Blaise and Pansy had spent the first hour with him, but left for more private quarters when it was clear he wasn't going to be drawn into conversation. He didn't think there was anything to talk about—not to them, and he swore he wouldn't even think about Ginny anymore. Not that it was working, but he had to make the effort. School was over, and everything that had happened there with it; he didn't have time for that sort of distraction.

The summer dragged by in a series of dull, wet days that left everything feeling strangely muffled. It wouldn't stop raining, and Draco drifted around the Manor with nothing to do and far too much time to think. Father had begun to include Draco in more of his activities, inviting him to the study after dinner parties while Father and his friends discussed details of their work for the Dark Lord. Draco sat at the edge of the room for most of the discussions, listening in case Father chose to quiz him later, trying with limited success to conceal his boredom. It all seemed so...petty. Little raids on individuals, Muggle-baiting, nipping at the edges of the Ministry's power; nothing big, nothing obvious, nothing so bold as to warrant a full-scale counter-attack.

Draco wondered why _anyone_ was afraid of them. He hadn't yet met the Dark Lord, but if this was his army, Draco wondered why anyone on the other side was worried at all. It reminded him of himself and Crabbe and Goyle when they were young, playing at soldiers with twigs in place of real wands. It all had a slightly unreal quality—it was difficult to remember that the witches and wizards his father talked about attacking were real people, that the things they planned were actually going to happen. Goyle's death, his conversations with Ginny, his half-voiced wish to escape from his life—they all seemed very far away.

One evening near to the middle of summer—an evening mercifully free of Father's friends, which meant that dinner was marginally less boring than usual—Draco excused himself early and retreated to his rooms, where he curled up in one of the windows and stared out at the rain-streaked lawn. He sat there until the sun lowered behind the horizon, hidden behind a thick veil of clouds, and the room around him sank into stygian darkness.

The sound of the door opening made Draco jump. Father strode into the room, frowning as he pulled his wand and pointed it at the candelabra on Draco's desk, which lit up. "Why are you sitting here in the dark?" He cut off Draco's reply with an impatient wave of his hand. "Never mind." Father strode to the bed and dropped a long black robe on the coverlet. "Put that on," he directed.

Draco raised his eyebrows curiously and obeyed. The robe was long and enveloping, the dark fabric pooling at Draco's feet. Father surveyed him with cold eyes and nodded once in approval.

"This is a marvelous opportunity," Father said, his voice low. "The Dark Lord has allowed me to bring you to our meeting tonight. Do what I do, say nothing unless asked, and don't do anything that will embarrass our name."

Draco stared in shock. A meeting? Father was actually going to bring him to a meeting, allow him to meet Voldemort? Some response was in order, so Draco cleared his throat. "Thank you, Father. I'm honoured." He wasn't, but Father didn't need to know that. But Father seemed satisfied, and motioned Draco to follow him down to his study. Mother was nowhere in sight, but she'd never wanted to be involved in Father's political games so it wasn't really surprising.

They Apparated from the study into a small clearing in the middle of some unknown forest. Others appeared, singly or in groups of two or three, nodding to Father as they arranged themselves in a small circle. Draco couldn't see that there was any sort of order, but Father motioned him to a specific spot, between a hulking figure who must be Crabbe's father and a dumpy wizard with an odd silver glove on his left hand. No one spoke.

After several long moments there came the distinctive sound of someone Apparating into the clearing, and a shiver seemed to go through the assembled wizards. Draco bit his lip, trying not to be obvious as he strained to see, not sure what to expect. The circle parted and all around the perimeter, robed men and women genuflected toward the figure entering. Draco knelt too, one eye on his father so that he could be sure of doing it right.

"Rise." The voice was cold and strangely high, like fingernails on a blackboard. Draco glanced at Father and raised himself carefully to his feet. He couldn't tell through the mask, but Father looked almost...afraid. Draco risked a glance at the centre of the circle, and the strange figure who must be Voldemort.

He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting; an older version of Tom Riddle, he supposed, or perhaps someone like Karkaroff, who was Headmaster at Durmstrang, old and wrinkled. This—this _thing_ lording it in the middle of the circle, with its white, noseless face, its wide-set, slitted red eyes... it wasn't even human. Draco bit back a gasp of revulsion as the thing gazed around at the gathered Death Eaters. How could Father swear allegiance to this thing? How could he stand here calmly and genuflect to it, bow before it like it was a king?

Draco curled his hands into fists inside his sleeves as Voldemort walked slowly around the circle. Every now and again the Dark Lord would pause, and the Death Eater nearest would kneel down and actually kiss the hem of its robe. Draco cut his eyes sideways at Father. There was _no way_ he would do it. If Voldemort was expecting Draco to kneel as though it were some sort of god, well, it could think again.

Draco held his breath as Voldemort moved slowly past him and paused before Father.

And Father bent down, knelt in the dirt at the thing's feet, and reverently lifted the Dark Lord's hem to his lips.

Draco had thought his world couldn't get more confusing than the day Ginny Weasley had told him Voldemort was a half blood, but this... _His father_, genuflecting before this horrible creature, kissing its filthy robes, making obeisance to it. Draco closed his eyes against his rising nausea, and didn't open them again until he heard Father rise and knew Voldemort had moved on.

Once its circuit of the gathering was complete, Voldemort moved back to the centre of the clearing and held out one spindly white hand. The short, dumpy wizard with the odd glove Draco had noticed before scuttled forward and laid a wand in the thing's spidery palm. There was a brief scuffle at the edge of the clearing, and a man, clad in plain trousers and shirtsleeves, was shoved into the circle to stumble and fall at Voldemort's feet. The Dark Lord smiled a terrible smile, and lowered its wand to point at the man's chest. "_Crucio,_" Voldemort whispered, and the man screamed.

Draco didn't know who the victim was, and it hardly mattered. Just some faceless man, who might have been a Muggle or a half-blood or a pureblood for all the difference it seemed to make to anyone. The circle of Death Eaters leaned forward as one, trying to get a closer look, it seemed, as Voldemort cast the Cruciatus spell on the man again and again.

The man jerked and thrashed, his face contorted into a mask of intense pain. Draco bit down sharply on his lower lip to keep himself from crying out in horror, thankful, not for the first time, for the mask that covered his features and hid his reaction from the other members of the circle. Draco risked a glance at Father, but he was focused on the figure lying in the centre of the ring, his pale eyes gleaming behind the eyeholes of his mask.

"_Crucio_," Voldemort whispered again, and the man writhed one more time before collapsing into an unmoving heap. Two Death Eaters leapt forward to pick up the corpse and drag it out of the ring; Draco hadn't known you could kill someone with Cruciatus, but here was proof that it was possible.

And the worst of it was no one seemed to care. It was as though nothing had happened. Voldemort tucked its wand out of sight and surveyed the Death Eaters, who shrank before its gaze. Voldemort's gaze rested on one or two in particular, who seemed to quail and shrink, as though expecting to be next in the centre of the circle, under the thing's wand.

"Our struggle continues," Voldemort declaimed, and a disjointed murmur ran through the crowd of Death Eaters. "Our old enemies are still arrayed against us, and have yet to be defeated. But not for long! Soon, we shall have the Ministry on the run, and my old enemies will lie at my feet! Every day we move closer to our goal, every day sees us that much closer to victory!"

A cheer rose up from the assembled Death Eaters as Voldemort went on in the same vein. They would be victorious, they would throw down the current order and make the world over in their image, they would cast out the mudbloods and purify the wizarding world. Draco listened, nodding when his Father did, wondering silently if they could start the 'purification' with the monstrosity that was leading this circle.

Finally the meeting ended. Voldemort left the circle the way it had come in. The Death Eaters drifted off into groups of two and three, talking quietly. Father touched Draco on the shoulder and motioned him to stay put, and hurried across the clearing to where Voldemort was standing in a small circle of admirers.

Draco tucked his hands inside the sleeves of his robes to hide their trembling. Father led him out of the clearing after he'd finished speaking with the Dark Lord and various other Death Eaters; Draco didn't' know what about, and he didn't care to know either. They Apparated silently back to Father's study at the Manor, which was blissfully warm and seemed more like home than it ever had before. Draco staggered to the settee and sank down onto it, bone weary.

Father pushed his hood down and removed his mask. He watched Draco for a moment, then smiled and moved to the sideboard to pour two glasses of his best brandy. He walked back over to the settee and handed one to Draco with a smile. "You did well tonight, son," he said, his voice suffused with pride. "You did well, and your actions were noticed. When I spoke to Lord Voldemort after the meeting, he said he shares my confidence in you. He would welcome you into our circle, Draco. It is a very great honour."

It took all of Draco's willpower to nod graciously, to smile up at Father and force the expected words past his tightening throat, the thanks and depreciations necessary to make Father think he was in total agreement, that he would take the Mark, when his head was ringing with only one thought: _Over my dead body._


	4. Chapter 4

~*~

It was past midnight but Ginny was still wide awake, unwilling to go to bed just yet. She knew another nightmare waited on the other side of sleep, and she wasn't ready to face that, not right now. She'd retreated to her small room after dinner and sat on her bed, her back to the wall beside the window and Ron's seventh-year DADA textbook propped up on her knees. She was reading up on advanced curse blocking to pass the time, murmuring the spells under her breath and practicing the motions with her wand hand. Some of them she knew already; her weeks of extra study with Professor Delacour were paying off.

Ron was still at home, Hermione and Harry with him, and all three were determined to go down to the Ministry in the next few days, to apply to be Aurors. Mum was frantic with worry, but she wasn't trying to talk Ron out of it. Ginny thought that was a minor miracle considering how upset Mum had been when Bill decided to become a curse-breaker. That was much less dangerous than Auroring, yet it hadn't stopped Mum from pitching a legendary fit. Ginny traced the words on the page in front of her idly. She'd been thinking about her own future after Hogwarts, what with Ron, Harry and Hermione planning away all summer, but there was no way Mum would let _her_ be an Auror. Not Ginny the baby.

She sighed and tried to concentrate on the textbook. There was a year yet to decide what to do with her future, plenty of time to convince Mum and Dad she wasn't as childish as they all assumed. Professor Delacour had told her more than once that she'd make a brilliant Auror, she had all the skills and could think on her feet, and she was more level-headed than Ron.

Of course, being level-headed didn't mean that she wouldn't jump a foot and knock her book off the bed when a knock sounded at her window in the middle of the night. Ginny braced her hands on her mattress and tried to steady her breathing, listening for any sound from the house that signaled her parents or brothers waking up to investigate. The knocking came again, and she crawled toward the window, her wand clutched tightly in her hand. She looked cautiously out; a darkly cloaked figure was floating there on broomstick, hand raised to knock again. The flash of blond hair under the cloak was unmistakable.

Draco.

Ginny pushed the window open and leaned out. "What are you _doing_?" she whispered frantically. She'd never expected to see him again, not after he ignored her all last term. She certainly never thought to see him _here_.

"Taking you up on your offer," Draco said harshly, his voice too loud in the quiet night. He guided his broom closer and reached out to push the window further up, then hoisted himself onto the sill. Close to, Ginny could see that he was paler than normal, and there was a new tightness around his eyes, a stiffness in his movements that bespoke tight control. She ducked out of the way as he tumbled backwards into her room, catching himself with one hand before he fell completely off the bed. The broom fell to the ground outside with a loud thump, and she held her breath, hoping the noise hadn't woken anyone up.

Ginny scrambled off the bed to lock her door, then turned back to Draco. He had curled up on the end of her bed, arms wrapped around his knees and his face hidden. He was shaking like a leaf, the edges of his black sleeves trembling with the force of his shudders.

"Draco, what—"

He whispered something Ginny couldn't hear and hugged himself tighter. She sat next to him and did the only thing she could think of—she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, rested her head against his neck and held on to him, murmuring soothing nonsense as he shook. He wasn't crying, which was just as well because Ginny wasn't sure what to do with a crying boy; that was the sort of crisis Mum usually handled. Not that she had any idea how to deal with a shaking, highly-upset boy either, but she thought it could be worse.

Finally Draco relaxed a bit, the shudders ceasing as he loosened his death grip on his legs. He started to talk, muttering the words into his knees. It took a few moments for Ginny to understand what he was saying, and once she did, she wished she couldn't. She had known, intellectually, the sort of cruelty Voldemort was capable of, but to hear Draco recite what he had seen tonight was chilling. It took all of Ginny's willpower not to beg him to stop talking. She didn't want to hear this. She had always known about Tom's evil streak, but she had no idea it had become this...refined, in the 50 years that separated the Tom she knew from Voldemort.

Draco's voice trailed off eventually, and Ginny brushed at his hair with one hand. When he finally unlocked his arms from around his legs Ginny let him go, shifting back on the bed. He stood up and took several steps away from the bed, looking around at her room with a mixture of curiosity and distaste. He looked so incongruous here, pacing in a small circle on her old rug wearing robes that were probably worth more than her whole wardrobe, his eyes traveling over her walls and things as though he were cataloguing their worth.

~*~

Draco ignored Ginny for a moment while he tried to pull himself together, taking deep breaths to still the trembling in his hands. He looked around at her room in an effort to distract himself from his weakness; his total lack of control tonight didn't bear thinking about just yet.

And Ginny's room was quite a distraction. It was very much a little girl's room, fluff and pastels everywhere he looked. The bed frame was painted a faded lavender, the coverlet decorated with tired pink ruffles. The carpet was a worn pink, and there was an ancient shell-blue desk in the corner, nearly hidden under a whirlwind of books and quills and parchment. There was a worn stuffed rabbit nestled beside the pillow at the head of the bed, its eyes still bright in an unraveling face. The walls were covered with a hideous cabbage-rose paper, which itself was plastered over with posters of Quidditch players and popular groups from the Wizarding Wireless Network. Draco frowned at the posters, searching for what he knew he'd find. Sure enough, there on the wall above her headboard was a tatty picture of Harry Potter. Draco sneered at it—she really was pathetic.

It was so different from his own cavernous suite at Malfoy Manor that there was really no comparison at all. Mother would never allow anything as gauche as that coverlet in her house, for starters, not even taking into account the sheer shabbiness of it. The thing was probably as old as Ginny was, though that could be said of just about everything in the room, from the battered chest of drawers to the row of used books that sat on the shelves above her desk.

Ginny herself was sitting on the awful coverlet in an equally shabby night dress with her legs tucked up under her, an anxious expression on her face as she watched him take in his surroundings. Draco cleared his throat, suddenly nervous. He probably shouldn't have come here, no matter what she'd said.

"You can't stay here," Ginny whispered finally. "I mean, I know I said I'd help, but you really can't—Harry and Ron are here, my dad's been working overtime at the Ministry with all the attacks, it's not safe—"

"I know," Draco said. "I know, I just...couldn't stay there. Not after—." He swallowed hard. "I couldn't. And I didn't know where else to go." Admitting that was hard; he'd circled the Burrow for almost an hour while he worked up the courage to knock on her window, his family pride fighting with the need to grasp any option so long as it didn't mean Voldemort.

Ginny's worried expression melted into sympathy. "I understand."

"You don't," Draco snapped. "You can't. Father told me after the meeting that he wanted me to join them. He wants me to be a Death Eater, to kowtow to that...that _thing_, and I _can't_." Draco paced in a small circle in the middle of the room—small by necessity, as there was barely more than a few steps between the bed and chest of drawers. "What am I supposed to _do_? I can't go home and it's not as though there's all that many people willing to welcome me in with open arms."

"Hogwarts," Ginny said, and Draco stopped pacing to stare at her. "Go to Hogwarts. Dumbledore will protect you."

"Dumbledore," Draco spat. Of _course_ the old man would be her solution. "Yes, I'll just run to Hogwarts and throw myself on his mercy, become a good little minion like all the rest of you. And then Potter will defeat Voldemort and we'll all live happily ever after with hearts and flowers and bunnies." He broke off in disgust and glared at Ginny.

She gave him a look. "Do you have any better ideas? He _will_ protect you, I know he will."

"Right," Draco said. He sounded strange and panicky even to himself. "And what's he going to want for it?"

"What makes you think he's going to ask you for anything? That's not how it works," Ginny said. "He'd help you because you need it, not because he'd have anything to gain by it."

"No? Not even knowing who my father is, knowing what he does?" Draco suddenly couldn't breathe. His father...he was betraying his father, betraying his family, his name, everything he'd been taught. He was trapped—he couldn't go back and be what his father wanted, but he couldn't go to Dumbledore either and betray his family. "I can't, I _can't_—"

"He wouldn't ask you to do anything you don't want to," Ginny said. "He wouldn't. Going to Hogwarts would just...just give you room to think. Where you can decide what you want to do without being pressured."

"And you're just helping the process along, are you? Earning your House points?" Draco clenched his fists, suddenly, irrationally angry. He desperately wanted to hit something, torn between the desire to put a fist through the wall and not wanting to wake any of the infamous Weasley brothers.

Ginny raised an amused eyebrow at him. "Well, there is that 'Reform a waffling Death Eater' award I was hoping for. No one in my family's ever won it, and Mum would be so proud."

"Dammit, Weasley, this isn't funny."

"No," she said, the amusement fading. "It really isn't."

Draco sighed and pushed his hands through his hair. "I don't know what to do. If I go home, I won't have any choice about joining Voldemort. Father wouldn't understand--" Draco closed his eyes in despair. Father wouldn't understand that he didn't have the stomach for killing, didn't have the balls to be a Death Eater. It was bad enough having _Ginny_ know he was a coward. Father would never forgive him.

"So go to Hogwarts," Ginny repeated. "You'll be safe while you think about it, and you can talk to Snape about it, and Dumbledore. You don't have to rely strictly on my opinion."

"And do what?" Draco asked. "Lounge about making a nuisance of myself? Play conkers in Dumbledore's office?"

"You could be Snape's potions assistant. You could help Professor Delacour teach DADA. You could be assistant Quidditch coach. You've got plenty of skills, and I know you did well on your Potions NEWTs, I heard Hermione saying so," Ginny said encouragingly. "Though there's something to be said for lounging about doing nothing."

"Oh yes, I'll just nip back to Hogwarts and be a _teacher_," Draco said. "Those who can, do. Those who can't, teach."

"Well that's a bit harsh." Ginny frowned disapprovingly at him. "You just said yourself your options are limited, so unless you'd like to become a fugitive, or go back, or—or run away and live as a Muggle, teaching's probably your best bet." She reached out and took his arm, pulling him to sit on the bed beside her. She laced her fingers through his and squeezed his hand. "It wouldn't be that bad."

Draco looked down at their hands, twined together as naturally as anything, feeling defeated. He didn't want this, didn't _want_ to feel protected or reasonable or _cared_ for by a girl who had probably never had a single new thing in her life, whose family's whole house could fit in his own suite of rooms at the Manor. He didn't want to be turning his entire life upside down because she was sitting there and being reasonable, to hand himself over to Dumbledore just because she seemed to trust the old man absolutely.

But he'd seen the alternative tonight, hadn't he? If his choices were Hogwarts or the echoing screams of a man being tortured to death, then he supposed it was clear. He couldn't—_couldn't_—do that, no matter what Father wanted.

"It's easy for me to say it, I know," Ginny interrupted his thoughts softly. "It's easy for people like Ron and Fred and George and Harry...especially Harry. Not that his position is easy to handle, mind, but he knows what he needs to do. He hasn't got to make any choices about what side to be on, or who to trust, or who to fight. He knows all that, and however hard the doing might be, he does know what's his to be done." She sighed and bumped him with her shoulder. "Some of us don't have that luxury."

"Us?" Draco shifted to look at her. "_Us_?"

"Yes, _us_," Ginny replied. "Do you think you're the only one who's had to think about where your loyalties are? About what role you're going to play when it comes down to it?"

"What? You planning to run off and join the Dark Lord tomorrow?" Draco snorted. "I can just see it—Ginny Weasley gone bad."

"Well it's happened before," Ginny said frigidly, and her hand tightened on his. Draco glanced at her face in surprise and bit back his reply. She'd gone stiff, her face set in angry lines, and was glaring at her chest of drawers so fiercely he was amazed it hadn't burst into flames.

He'd forgotten about Tom Riddle. It was a bit ironic, actually, considering that Riddle was what had brought him to Ginny in the first place. Voldemort. Draco's mouth twisted into a mocking smile—he would never have ended up here if Father hadn't given Ginny that diary, if Draco had never found her with the boggart that day.

"I didn't mean—" he began, feeling some sort of apology was in order, but Ginny shook her head.

"I know. You didn't mean anything by it." She sounded so sad. Draco let go of her hand to put his arm around her shoulder, and Ginny settled against him with a sigh. They fit this way too, the same way their hands fit together; as though she belonged where she was, her head tucked against his neck, her torso aligned neatly against his.

Ginny raised her head to look at him with eyes the colour of aged brandy. She had delicate lines fanning out from the corners of her eyes and another between her eyebrows, faint signs of age in a face too young for them. Draco leaned forward and brushed his lips against her forehead, then placed soft kisses at the corner of each eye, wishing he could erase the lines that simply. He kissed her cheeks and the sides of her nose, the delicate line of her jaw, the corners of her mouth.

Ginny inhaled softly when he kissed her fully, her lips opening under his without any urging, addictive and soft. Draco pushed her back onto the coverlet and Ginny went willingly, pulling him over her. Somewhere in the back of his mind was a small voice screaming that this was wrong, utterly so, but Draco couldn't make himself care. All he wanted right now was to forget—forget everything he'd seen tonight, everything he might be forced to do, every decision he had to make.

Draco narrowed his world to her—her fiery hair, her translucent skin, her perfect mouth. And Ginny didn't stop him, not even when he thought she might. Instead she urged him on, let him lift off her thin nightdress and caress her bare skin, helped him take off his own robes so she could touch him in return. She moved against him like she'd been made for this, for him, whispering his name over and over as he touched her. And they fit this way too, so well that Draco wasn't sure where she ended and he began, until it simply didn't matter. It left him exposed in ways he'd never imagined, frightened and elated and shattered at the same time, lost in her eyes and mouth and heat.

Draco lay next to her after, trying to level his breathing, trying to hide how he felt—how _much_ he felt, how much she affected him. Ginny opened her eyes, clear and deep in the faint light, and smiled at him. Her eyes drifted closed again before he could react, and Draco was traitorously grateful for it; he couldn't have spoken yet, or even summoned a smile in return. He rested his head on the pillow next to hers and closed his own eyes, wrapping his arms around her, letting her own steady breathing lead him down into sleep.

~*~

It was very late—or very early—when Ginny woke up. It took a moment to re-orient herself and realize that she'd been woken up, not by a nightmare for a change, but by the heavy arm draped over her middle and the warm presence at her back.

Ginny smiled and shifted as much as his arm around her allowed so that she could look at his face, slack and surprisingly innocent in sleep. The faint rose light drifting in through her window limned his profile in pink and gold, painting his hair with gilt. He looked angelic, slender and ghostly against her tangled sheets. She extricated one hand from the covers and twined a strand of light hair around her fingers, trailed her hand gently across his eyebrows. He had a face too sharp for traditional handsomeness, all edges and angles; Ginny smoothed one finger down his nose and traced his lips gently, marveling at how pale he was.

Draco shifted restlessly and pulled away as much as the narrow bed allowed. Ginny grinned and let him, rolling onto her side so she could watch him. Draco stretched out, his arm bumping against the wall, and he frowned in his sleep. One eye opened, and he glared at the wall, grouchy and slightly confused.

"Good morning," Ginny whispered, and Draco rolled back, transferring the glare from the wall to her. "Do you want to stay for breakfast, then?" she asked, and was rewarded with a sharpening of that sleepy glower. Ginny smiled. "Right. Guess that's a  
no."

"Mmph."

"If you stay here half an hour longer, Mum will be up and then you won't have much of a choice."

"Breakfast or death," Draco muttered, and buried his face in the pillow.

"A little bit of each, should any of my brothers find you in here with nothing on," Ginny replied cheerfully.

There was a muffled groan from the pillow. Draco rolled onto his side and squinted balefully at her. "I'm _not_ staying for breakfast."

"All right," Ginny said. "Then you really should get up, because Mum _will_ be up soon, and if she does find you here, you really won't have a choice. On either the breakfast _or_ the death, I expect."

Draco muttered, but obediently sat up, yawning hugely. Ginny watched in appreciation as he arched his back, stretching his arms above his head. He had a seeker's build, though he was taller than seekers should be, all clean lines and slender grace. Ginny's fingers itched to reach out and trace the arch of his spine, to feel his smooth, pale skin again.

And she _could_. It was an amazing thought. She could touch him if she wanted. Feeling greatly daring, Ginny reached out and trailed her hand down his spine, tracing each delicate bump. Draco inhaled sharply and twisted to look at her, eyes wide. Ginny froze and slowly withdrew her hand. "I'm sorry, I—"

"It's not—" Draco stopped and closed his eyes, clenching his hands in the bed sheets.

Ginny bit her lip and sat up fully, swinging her legs off the bed. It was fine if he didn't want her to touch him. She could understand it really, and just because she felt...something, didn't mean he had to. She pushed herself off the bed, intent on gathering up his things. "You should—should get ready, I think your broom is still downstairs, and there's spells and things that need to be taken off the door, so we should hurry before my parents wake up—"

"Ginny."

She glanced up. He'd got up off the bed and was standing in front of her, like a marble statue come to life in the faint light. Draco reached out with one hand and cupped her cheek gently, smoothing his fingers over her skin. His fingers were trembling. Ginny sighed and relaxed into his touch, giving him a tremulous smile. He smiled faintly back and lowered his head, brushing his lips against hers softly.

A loud groan from the direction of the attic made them both jump, and Draco glanced up at the ceiling with a panicked expression. "It's only the ghoul," Ginny said to reassure him, and pushed the pile of clothing she was holding at him. "But if he's up, Mum will be soon too. We'd better hurry."

Ginny pulled her nightdress on over her head and wrapped her hair up in a quick bun to get it out of her way. She checked the hall carefully, and motioned Draco after her. He followed her down the stairs and mercifully said very little while she undid the spells on the back door and pushed it open. She knew he was looking, taking in every detail of the low, dark kitchen, the worn utensils, the warped places in the wooden floor, the horribly embarrassing display of childish drawings Mum had tacked to the wall behind her knitting chair. She let him out onto the back step and stood there watching, shivering slightly in the damp morning air, as he fetched his broomstick from under her window. He walked back to the porch and paused in front of her, his Firebolt poised beside him in the air. "Ginny—" He stopped, at a loss as to what to say, and glanced down at the ground at hisfeet. "I'll owl you," he said finally, scuffing one boot in the damp grass.

"All right," Ginny said quietly. "Be careful?"

Draco nodded and reached out to touch her cheek gently, his eyes guarded. He dropped his hand and swung one leg gracefully over the shaft of the Firebolt, kicking off the ground in one smooth motion. He waved once, and Ginny watched as he flew higher, angled over the low trees on the far side of the meadow and was gone.

~*~

Draco stood in front of the Hogwarts entrance hall, staring up at the large doors nervously. He'd gone back home after leaving Ginny and packed a trunk, which sat on the ground next to him now. He had packed as quickly as he could, and left the Manor without leaving a note—it felt cowardly and vaguely shameful, to leave without even saying goodbye to Mother, but the alternative was having Father find out he was leaving, and that was something Draco didn't want to contemplate.

Draco felt brittle, standing here staring up at Hogwarts' hated edifice. He'd waited for so long to get _out_ of this place and here he was, gathering his courage to walk up those steps and throw himself on Dumbledore's mercy and hide behind those walls. But he didn't have a choice. It was Dumbledore or Voldemort, and Draco had no intention of bowing and scraping in front of some subhuman monster. He heaved a sigh, slung his Firebolt over his shoulder, and lifted the end of his trunk, dragging it up the stairs after him.

The entrance hall was empty, and Draco's footsteps echoed back from the vaulted ceiling as he walked toward the staircase at the far end. He wasn't sure how to find Dumbledore—for all the mischief he got into while he was at Hogwarts, he'd never had to speak directly to the Headmaster. A flicker of motion caught Draco's attention, and he watched with a sinking feeling as Peeves the Poltergeist drifted into the hall, looking bored.

Peeves's bored expression vanished as he spotted Draco. "What's this? What's this? A _student_ here? It's not school yet, my lad!" Peeves swooped and giggled, launching himself from pillar to pillar like a demented Bludger. "Not supposed to be here, are you?" The thought seemed to excite him; he flew past Draco's head with a gleeful chuckle. "Ooh, you'll get in trouble, so you will! No students here until September first!"

"Bugger off," Draco snapped. Of course, that only made Peeves more frantic, hooting and giggling until his voice rang through the entrance hall. Someone was sure to come and see what all the noise about, and Draco tensed to leave before someone did come and blamed him for it. Except he was _here_ to be found, he reminded himself. He wanted someone to find him—it would certainly save him the trouble of having to hunt a teacher down.

Draco didn't have long to wait. Peeves kept shouting, and eventually several other ghosts appeared to see what the fuss was, staring at Draco in their vague, ghostly ways. Hard on the heels of that pathetic Gryffindor ghost came Professor McGonagall. Draco swallowed hard and clutched his broom a little more firmly.

"Peeves, you stop that this inst—oh!" The old woman stopped short and stared at him, Peeves forgotten in her astonishment. "Draco Malfoy? What on earth...?"

"Professor." Draco had to stop and clear his throat. He hated how weak he sounded, pathetic. "I—I—" But he couldn't get the words out. He tried, but they wouldn't come.

The world was graying out around the edges, losing focus. Draco was only vaguely aware of hands on his shoulders, of McGonagall barking orders to one of the ghosts as she guided him to the stairs to sit down. "Put your head down. There, between your knees, like that. Have you eaten anything today?"

Draco did as he was told, and some of the colour came back into his vision as the gray receded a bit. "No," he said weakly. "I haven't eaten."

McGonagall made a familiar disapproving sound and got her wand out, conjuring a small plate of sandwiches which she placed on the steps beside Draco's hip. "Well, eat that and we'll see if we can't keep you from passing out in the middle of the Entrance Hall."

Draco obediently ate a sandwich, which did make him feel somewhat better. McGonagall eyed him warily as he chewed, tapping her wand against her hand. The silence stretched out uncomfortably.

Finally Professor Dumbledore arrived, Snape trailing behind him with a scowl. Both men stopped short at the sight of Draco, who swallowed hard and set down his sandwich. "There you are, Albus!" McGonagall said, relief evident in her voice.

"Hello, Minerva," Dumbledore said absently, before fixing Draco with a penetrating stare. "And Mr. Malfoy. This _is_ a surprise."

Draco clenched his hands into fists and swallowed against the sudden dryness in his mouth. "Professor," he muttered. Snape looked genuinely shocked to see him, an expression he'd never seen on the unflappable Potions master's face before. Dumbledore cast an unreadable look at Snape before coming forward to stand in front of the steps where Draco sat.

The old man held his hands out gravely, and Draco extended his arms, guessing what was wanted. Dumbledore took his wrists gently and pushed back his sleeves, exposing the pale flesh of Draco's forearms. He studied them gravely, his blue eyes serious above his half-moon spectacles. "I don't have a Dark Mark," Draco said sullenly. "S'why I'm here."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows, looking into Draco's eyes seriously. "Indeed?" The old man dropped his hands from Draco's wrists and turned to the other teachers. "We'll go to my office. There are better places to be having this conversation than the Entrance Hall." Dumbledore waved his wand and Draco's trunk disappeared with a pop. "Come with me, Mr. Malfoy. Severus, if you'd be so good as to join us?"

Feeling as though he was still in school and in more trouble than he could ever remember, Draco silently followed Dumbledore up to the gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster's office. He could feel Snape's eyes on him, his bewilderment.

Draco had never been in Dumbledore's office, and he tried not to stare at the anteroom full of portraits, or the bookcases full of books and parchments, or the full-fledged telescope mounted on the balcony above the Headmaster's desk. He nearly missed Dumbledore waving him into a chair; he pulled his attention back where it should be with an effort. Dumbledore sank into his own chair and conjured another for Snape, who took it in silence.

"So. Mr. Malfoy. I hope you'll forgive our utter surprise at seeing you back at Hogwarts." Dumbledore said. He folded his hands on his desk and leaned forward, his sharp blue eyes resting on Draco's. "What brings you here?"

Draco could feel his carefully planned explanation vanishing beneath that steely gaze. "I—I don't have anywhere else to go. Father—" Draco stopped and closed his eyes, trying to gather himself together. He had to stop stammering like an idiot; he wasn't a child, after all, or a student. "My father is—"

And he stopped again. Dumbledore was the leader of the resistance, one of Voldemort's most hated enemies. He couldn't, _couldn't_ tell them that Father was a Death Eater. It was the worst sort of betrayal, and Draco simply could not make himself say it. He opened his eyes again and looked at Dumbledore, who hadn't moved at all.

"You were invited to join the Death Eaters," Snape said, and Dumbledore glanced at him. Draco all but sagged with relief, to be out from under that steel trap of a gaze. "Last night, if I'm not mistaken."

"Yes," Draco muttered. He could feel his face flushing—even that much felt like treachery.

"And you refused?" Dumbledore asked. His voice was impressively neutral.

"Yes. I _had_ to. Father...he wanted me to, and I said I would, but I can't." Draco tightened his hands on the armrests of his chair, willing Dumbledore to believe him. "And I won't. He's not even _human_!" The words burst out of him before he could stop himself.

"No indeed, he is not human and hasn't been for a very long time," Dumbledore said gravely. "Though I am surprised... Well. That's neither here nor there. I'm pleased you thought to come here, to Hogwarts." _To us_, was the unspoken end of that phrase, and it was all Draco could do not to flinch, almost sick with betrayal.

Snape cleared his throat, mercifully taking the attention from Draco. "Malfoy will need something to do, if he's staying here," he said. "Perhaps he could assist me at Potions? I've been...busy, as you know."

Draco glanced at his old teacher, wondering what he meant by "busy". He knew Snape was a Death Eater. Father used to talk about it, and Snape had met with Father one or two times, though never at the meetings Draco had attended. From the way Father talked, Snape wasn't entirely to be trusted. And if Dumbledore would allow him to be present for this sort of conversation, Draco allowed that Father was probably right. It was something to think about.

"That's an excellent suggestion, Severus." Dumbledore looked at Draco. "Would that suit you, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco didn't know what to say. "I—yes. I suppose."

"If you'll excuse me, then," Snape said, and swept out when Dumbledore nodded. Draco turned his head to watch Snape go, not wanting to look back at Dumbledore, to have to meet his knowing eyes. He settled for looking at his hands instead, curled around the armrests of his chair so tightly he could see his bones standing out under the skin. The silence stretched out until Draco could barely stand it. He was waiting for the questions to start—about Father's involvement, about the plans he'd been privy to, about his involvement, however minor, with Voldemort and his minions.

When Dumbledore cleared his throat, Draco jumped despite himself. "If you're afraid I'm going to interrogate you, you needn't worry," the Headmaster said quietly. "You don't have to tell me anything you don't wish to." He paused thoughtfully while Draco exhaled a silent sigh of relief. "I am afraid I've misjudged you, Mr. Malfoy, and I am sorry for that."

Draco looked up at that, unsure what to say in response. He met Dumbledore's blue eyes, not even sure why the old man was even willing to hear him out. Father always said Dumbledore was an old fool—but then, Father also said that Voldemort was a reasonable man.

Dumbledore chuckled and stood up, saving Draco from replying. "But I have been wrong before, and will be again, I have no doubt. You must be tired from your journey. We can discuss the future in more detail later, but for now I think perhaps a bath and a warm bed are in order."

Draco let Dumbledore lead him toward the dungeons, to a short hallway near to where Snape kept his office and private quarters. There was a series of small, modestly appointed suites off either side of the corridor, and Dumbledore guided him to one. "These are kept empty much of the time—they were used when Hogwarts had more students, and thus more staff. I took the liberty of sending your trunk here when you arrived. You'll have a private bath, of course, though I'm afraid you won't have much company down here."

"That's fine," Draco said. The room was small, with little more than a bed and a small sitting area in front of the fireplace. He didn't mind, though, either the smallness of the room or the lack of company—he couldn't imagine having to talk to anyone right now. He yawned in spite of himself, and Dumbledore smiled kindly.

"But you're tired. I'll just leave you to get settled."

"I shouldn't be," Draco said, yawning again. "I haven't really traveled that far."

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore said softly. "You've come farther than you think." He bestowed an enigmatic smile on Draco and shut the door quietly behind him as he left.

~*~

Ginny crept back to bed after Draco had gone, sitting on the end of her rumpled bed and staring out the window at the slowly lightening landscape. She wondered if she should feel different, now that she wasn't a girl anymore. The thought made her chuckle under her breath; she _had_ been reading too many romance novels, if she was thinking silly thoughts about becoming a woman, as though it were some sort of marvelous transformation.

Truthfully, it hadn't really been marvelous. Slightly awkward, a little uncomfortable, good in parts, certainly, but not particularly miraculous. At least Draco had generally known what he was doing, so it wasn't as uncomfortable as it could have been. Ginny still felt like smiling, so she did, grinning at the rising sun as it rose over the hills.

The urge to smile stayed with her all day, flashes of memory sneaking out at unexpected moments. She convinced Mum to let her do all the solitary chores so she wouldn't have her brothers or Harry or Hermione asking her what she kept grinning about. The weeds in the garden and the laundry didn't care if she stopped every now and again to smile or hug herself.

Ginny had calmed down by mid-afternoon, her happiness somewhat worn down by the sheer volume of weeds she'd pulled out of the vegetables. She rinsed her hands in the sink and went to the icebox to fetch a glass of pumpkin juice as Ron, Harry and Hermione came into the kitchen. "Hey Gin, get us some too?" Ron asked.

"Sure," she said, and started pulling more glasses down from the shelf. Ron had the afternoon copy of the Daily Prophet, and he spread it out on the kitchen table while Hermione and Harry arranged themselves on chairs, chatting in low voices.

"Hey!" Ron said, his voice loud with excitement. "Malfoy's gone _missing_!" Ginny froze guiltily, ducking so that her hair fell over her face. She hadn't thought Draco would leave so soon. Ron tapped the paper. "Look here, it says that his dad issued a missing persons report for him this morning! Who'd have thought?"

Hermione raised her eyebrows and reached out to take the paper from him. "That's odd, don't you think? I wonder what happened."

"Paper doesn't say." Ron draped himself across the back of Hermione's chair. "Maybe he's fled the country."

"Or gone into hiding. Maybe he's going to spy for Vold—I mean, the Dark Lord, and they've sent him into isolation to prepare," Harry said with a laugh.

"Maybe he's decided to join our side and run away from home," Ginny ventured. The three of them glanced up in surprise, as if startled to find her there.

Ron snorted. "Oh yeah, and we've won the lottery. That'll be the day, that Malfoy decides to join us. Not likely, Gin. Say, maybe he's dead!"

"Ron!" Hermione turned her head to glare at him. "Don't say things like that."

"Well, it'd be nice if it were true."

Hermione huffed and rattled the paper. "It's still a terrible thing to say."

Harry grinned at Ron. "Would be good, though. Don't say you'd mind if Malfoy dropped off the planet." They both laughed as Hermione tossed her hair and pinched up her mouth. Ginny shook her head at the three of them. She knew Draco _wasn't_ dead, that he'd chosen to take her advice and go to Hogwarts. He had to have done; he hadn't said one way or the other, but if he was missing today...

"Ginny, are you going to pour that juice or not?" Ron's irritated question snapped her out of her reverie.

"Of course," she said quietly, and reached up for the glasses. "Sorry, I'm just a bit tired today."

"You were up late last night, weren't you?" Harry asked quietly, and Ginny startled. Ron's eyebrows flew up and he cast a dark look at his friend. Harry caught Ron's eye and blanched. "I mean, I thought I heard you up."

Ginny went weak with relief. "Oh, yes I was. I...couldn't sleep."

Ron raised his eyebrows and finally relinquished the paper to Hermione. "Are you still having trouble sleeping, Gin?"

Ginny shrugged nervously as three pairs of eyes focused on her. "It's not something that just goes away, Ron. Sometimes I do. It's nothing to worry about."

"Why haven't you ever _said_?" Ron had turned around in his chair to face her fully, his brow furrowing with concern.

"Because it's not that important. It doesn't happen all the time," Ginny replied calmly. She placed a full glass of juice next to Ron's hand. "Besides, I don't need much sleep. I'm fine."

Ron looked worried, but he let it drop. "Just—if there's anything I can do—"

"I'll tell you, Ron." Ginny couldn't help but smile at him. Ron could be a pain, but he was really sweet when it counted. On impulse, she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek; Ron muttered and pushed her away, but he looked pleased all the same.

Later that afternoon an anonymous grey owl came soaring across the meadow and landed beside Ginny on the porch with a rustle of feathers. She untied the note from its leg curiously, absently offering the bird a bite of her sandwich as she unfolded the parchment.

_Have arrived safely_, it said, in a bold, slanting scrawl. _Thanks_. The letter was unsigned, but there was no doubt as to who it was from. Ginny smiled to herself—it was very like Draco. Abrupt and to the point, without unnecessary words or sentimentality. She folded the note and stowed it carefully in her pocket, petting the owl's soft feathers as it finished the bite of sandwich. It cooed softly at her and took off again. Ginny watched it go with a small smile. It was ridiculous, really, to feel this giddy over a simple and decidedly unromantic note, but Ginny couldn't help it. He'd _done_ it, all on his own—on her advice, certainly, but he'd made the journey to Hogwarts on his own, and she was so proud of him for that she could burst.

The next few days carried on in the same way—Ginny hid her odd happy moments from her brothers, and they, for the most part, were caught up in other things and either didn't have time for her or weren't interested in chatting. Fred and George had a flat above their shop, but they still spent as much time at home as they did at their place, so the house was full to the brim with Weasleys. It was nice, Ginny thought, as she leaned against the porch rail to watch Ron and Percy de-gnome the garden, to have most of her family around her like this, and Hermione and Harry too.

One of the advantages to being over Harry was that she could talk to him without blushing now. She smiled at him as he came to join her in watching Ron and Percy toss gnomes over the fence, their arms not quite touching. Once, being this close to Harry would have sent her into fits of nervousness, but now she just smiled, happy to have his company without wanting anything more.

"It's a beautiful day, isn't it?" she said, taking a deep breath. The air smelled of grass and fresh-turned dirt and slightly of rain—it was a homey, summer smell that always made Ginny feel full.

"It is," Harry replied. He shifted his feet, clearing his throat. "Not many days like this left, I don't think."

"No," Ginny said. She frowned out at the garden. It had been an idyllic summer, scarily calm, really. There had been few attacks, as though Voldemort was gathering himself for something. Nearly everyone had expected the war to be over by now, so this nervous waiting was setting everyone on edge.

It affected Harry most of all; he seemed much older than his eighteen years, and Ginny was shocked to see a few silver threads shot through his mop of black hair. He sighed, squinting into the sun, and then turned to face her. Ginny smiled up at him, and he smiled faintly back. "I was going to go down to Brighton one of these days, just to see it. I've never been. I've heard it's nice though—walking along the pier, people-watching, and the weather's supposed to be good. I thought, maybe go for dinner, see a show or something."

"That sounds nice," Ginny said.

"I—I'd like for you to come with me," he said, then ducked his head and kissed her, a soft, fast brush of his mouth against hers. It was over almost before Ginny realized it had begun, and she had a fleeting sense of startled disappointment as Harry backed up a step with a small, shy smile, and met her eyes hopefully.

"Harry, I—" She stopped, her hands fluttering helplessly. "I can't. I'm sorry."

Harry blinked, his green eyes bewildered. "What?"

"Please, I just—I can't."

"It isn't to do with Ron, is it? Because I can handle Ron," Harry said, glancing out at the garden. He smiled wryly. "And the rest of your brothers, if you're worried about my welfare."

Ginny shook her head. "It's not Ron. It's just that I...I'm spoken for."

She didn't know whether to be flattered or insulted at the pole-axed expression on Harry's face. He looked genuinely shocked. "You're _spoken_ for? By who?"

"I can't say."

Harry frowned and stood up quickly. He paced to the other end of the porch, pausing to look out over the yard, shoulders slightly bowed. Ginny watched him with a worried frown. Harry was still for so long that Ginny startled when he spun around suddenly. "It's not Seamus, is it?"

"What?" It took a moment for her to realize what he was asking. "Oh. No, it's not Seamus."

"Dean?"

"No, it's not Dean either. It's no one in Gryffindor," Ginny said with a hint of exasperation. Why were boys always so _difficult_? "Harry, please don't take this the wrong way, but who it is isn't really any of your business."

That made his face pinch up unhappily. "I guess not." Harry turned abruptly, staring out at the yard, and Ginny gazed unhappily at his back.

"Harry, I really am sorry," she said. And she really was. Her crush might have faded ages ago, but Harry was still a sweet, handsome boy, and Ginny was flattered that he'd asked her. But she couldn't—not with everything else that had happened this summer.

Harry's shoulders tensed, and he turned his head slightly. "S'alright," he muttered. "Gonna go for a walk." And he launched himself down the steps and into the garden.

Ginny watched him go, feeling unaccountably guilty. Well, she _was_ spoken for—sort of—and things were confused enough already with Draco without having Harry making forays into the romance department too. Ginny watched his narrow back through the tall grass for a moment, then sighed and went back into the house.

Hermione was in the kitchen, and she looked up as Ginny came in with an eager expression on her face. It faded as Ginny glanced at her, and was replaced by a  
curious frown. "What happened?" she asked curiously.

"Nothing," Ginny said. She'd lay bets that Harry had talked with Hermione and Ron about his plan to invite her out, and Ginny would let him tell them about her refusal—it would probably save him at least some embarrassment.

"Where's Harry?"

"Still outside. He said he wanted to walk in the garden." Ginny smiled slightly as Hermione pushed away from the table and made for the door. Harry'd be inundated with help in a moment, just as soon as Hermione found Ron. She made herself a sandwich and wandered into the drawing room with her latest novel, intending to spend the rest of the afternoon in quiet contemplation of someone _else's_ complicated love life for a change.

But it was not to be. Not ten minutes after she'd got settled in the overstuffed armchair, Ron came barging in from the kitchen. "What's this nonsense about you being spoken for?" he shouted.

Ginny sighed and put down her book. "Ron—"

"Don't you interrupt me! What sort of foolishness _is_ this? You're not _spoken_ for!" Ron started pacing back and forth on the carpet, waving his hands in the air. "I think I'd know if you were!"

"I don't think—"

"What's going on?" George interrupted, poking his head into the room, Fred right behind him. "What's the fuss, Ron?"

Ron whirled around and pointed an accusing finger at Ginny. "She told Harry she had a _boyfriend_!"

"Ginny's got a _boyfriend_?" Fred said. "Isn't that against the rules?"

"Fred!"

George grinned and barreled into the room, landing half on top of Ginny with a thud. "Our little sister, all grown up. Who is it?"

"George! Get off me!"

"Oh, come on. Tell us who it is!"

"I'm not telling you _anything_! Gerroff, George, I can't breathe!"

George didn't get off. "Come _on_, Gin! You can't say something like that and not tell us _who_!"

"I can't tell you anything at all if I'm dead! Get OFF!" Ginny poked him in the ribs and heaved, and George allowed himself to be pushed away. He perched himself on the arm of her chair instead and grinned down at her. Fred bounced forward to sit on the other arm, and Ginny scrunched down in the seat and wondered wistfully what it might be like to be an only child.

"Why would you say something like that to Harry?" Ron demanded, refusing to be derailed. "You wouldn't be spoken for without us knowing!"

"I might!" Ginny tried to wiggle out of the chair, but Fred and George clamped down on her arms and refused to let her go. "And I still don't see how—Fred, _stop that!_—how it's any of your business!"

Ron opened and closed his mouth a few times, looking distressingly fish-like. "Not our—_not our business_! You—you—we—"

Percy charged into the room just then, sparing them from having to watch Ron hunt for words. "_What_ are the lot of you going on about now?" he snapped. He had ink stains on his hands, and his hair was frazzled. "I'm trying to _work_, if you hadn't noticed!"

Ron rounded on him. "Ginny's _spoken_ for!"

This made Percy stop and blink owlishly. "She's what?"

"She said she's got a boyfriend!" Ron flung his arms out angrily, and narrowly missed clipping George on the ear.

Percy turned to stare at Ginny, who sank a bit lower in her chair. "_Ginny_?"

"Well, you needn't sound so shocked," she muttered.

"Who is it?"

"That's none of your business, Percy! Just as it's none of Ron's business, or Fred's or George's, or anyone's but mine!" Ginny glared at each of her brothers in turn. "I'm not a little girl, and I can go with anyone I like, and there's bloody-all you can do about it, isn't there?"   
"What's wrong with Harry?" Ron asked. "Why can't you just date Harry? Harry's a nice fellow!"

"Maybe I don't want to!" Ginny snapped. "Maybe, just _maybe_, I want to be able to pick for myself who I'm going to date, and not have to justify it to you lot! I'm not going to date Harry because it'll be convenient for you!"

"I don't see why you can't just say! Unless it's someone really awful—" Ron broke off suddenly, an expression of horror crossing his features. "Tell me it isn't Colin!" he pleaded. "I could put up with just about anyone, so long as it isn't Colin. Say it isn't him!"

"It isn't Colin," Ginny said, rolling her eyes.

"Then who is it?" Fred demanded. "You should be able to tell us! Your own brothers!"

"I'm _not_ telling you because it's none of your business! And even if I did, the first thing you'd do is go out and see if you can find him and harass him. Or kill him," Ginny said darkly. "So just shove off."

Fred scowled. "We wouldn't!"

"You would!"

Percy, who had been watching them argue with his arms folded across his chest, cleared his throat. "You know, Ginny," he said pompously, "there's a very simple solution to this problem."

Everyone turned to look at him. "Which is?" Ginny asked.

"We'll tell Mum."

Ginny felt her insides freeze. "You wouldn't _dare_!"

Percy raised his eyebrows and looked at her condescendingly. "It'd be in your best interests, you know."

"_How_!? It isn't any of Mum's business either!"

"Now, Ginny," Percy replied. "There's a war on, and you can't simply go about seeing strange men without telling us—"

The world went very bright and sharp, and next thing Ginny knew, she was standing in front of Percy and trembling. There was a bright red mark on Percy's cheek, and all of her brothers were staring at her in shock. "You are _not_," she said quietly, "telling Mum. And you are _not_ going to mention this again. It isn't anyone you know, nor is it anyone you _need_ to know. If I wanted you to know, I would _tell_ you. And that means that if I catch you snooping round my things, Fred and George, you'll be in for it." She glared at the twins, who shuffled their feet. "Merlin knows I never went 'round telling Mum when any of _you_ started pulling girls."

"That's different, Gin!" Ron said. "It's not at all the same!"

"Why not?" Ginny demanded, rounding on him. "It's perfectly all right for _you_ to have girls, but it's not all right for _me_? All of you have been running around for _years_ saying 'Ginny, don't tell anyone this' and 'Ginny, don't tell anyone that', but the minute I want to keep something from any of you, you're going to sic _Mum_ on me?"

"Ginny, be reasonable," Percy began, but Ginny cut him off with a glare.

"I am being _perfectly_ reasonable!" she snapped. "I never told anyone about Penelope, did I, Percy? And I never told Katie, George, when you were so mad for her in your seventh year. I didn't tell Ron when Hermione took Victor Krum to the Yule ball, and I didn't tell _her_, Ron, when you spent half your summer practicing lines on me when you wanted to ask her on a date!"

Ron went beet red and shuffled his feet on the rug as Fred and George collapsed into laughter. Ginny waited for them to stop, her arms crossed over her chest. When their snickers had died down, she glared at each of her brothers in turn. "I'll tell Mum myself when I'm ready for her to know, just as I'll tell all of you when you need to know. For right now, it's _none of your business_, and I don't want to hear anything more about it."

"Fair enough, Gin," George said. He whacked Ron on the back of the head when Ron opened his mouth to protest. "You know enough about all of us to do some serious damage, we can see that. So keep our secrets, and we'll keep yours, right?"

Ginny waited for the other boys to agree, reluctantly nodding and muttering. "Just don't think that you can get away with this sort of behaviour all the time," Percy told her sternly on his way out. "I will have strong words with Mum about this."

Ginny rolled her eyes at his retreating back. "Oh, I'm sure."

~*~

"Are you finished with those sleeping draughts yet?"

The snappish voice made Draco look up from his work station and he nodded at Snape, who was hovering in the door to Draco's room like an irritated bat. "I'm just about to bottle them, actually."

Snape jerked his chin affirmatively and leaned against the door-frame, watching Draco transfer the potion from his small working cauldron to the vials lined up at the edge of his work table. Draco filled them steadily, long used to working under the Potions Master's censorious gaze. He'd been working in Snape's own workspace all summer, but now, a week before the start of term, the low, dark room behind Snape's office was crammed full of cauldrons of potions of various types and there was barely room for Snape to work, never mind Draco. Instead, Snape had bullied Filch into finding a spare table to set up in Draco's private room, and Draco used it to make all the less time-consuming brews.

Draco corked the last of the bottles and dug around on the shelf behind his work table for a bag to put them in. "Does Madam Pomfrey need anything else?"

"Not at present. She's got enough medicines and materials to keep even the most accident-prone of our students out of trouble." Snape accepted the bag from Draco and tucked it under his arm. "I'll be bottling the wound-cleaning potion and the Memory drafts tomorrow, however, if you'd care to join me."

It wasn't exactly a request—Draco's role as Snape's assistant meant that he spent much of his time doing all sorts of menial tasks for the Potions master. Part of Draco felt that the work really was beneath him, but he couldn't exactly complain. He'd volunteered for this, after all. "I'll be there," he said, and Snape nodded sharply before he swept out the door, presumably to take Draco's potions to Madam Pomfrey.

Draco sighed and waved his wand at the cauldron, scrubbing it clean with a simple charm. Without an assignment from Snape he was at loose ends for the rest of the day; a rare stretch of time to himself. Snape had kept him busy, these last few weeks—probably at Dumbledore's request. The old man hadn't pressed Draco for information after his arrival, but Draco knew that the rest of the staff distrusted him. Even Snape.

Draco put his jars of ingredients away, arranging them neatly on the shelves behind his bench, a little make-work so that he wouldn't have to face the next few hours, empty as they were. He much preferred having things to do; sitting idle gave him far too much time to think. He considered, again, writing a letter to Ginny, but it wasn't possible. He couldn't send her a school owl, and he wasn't allowed to leave the castle to send her a public owl from Hogsmeade.

"I'm afraid that's quite out of the question," Dumbledore had said when Draco brought it up. "Hogwarts is one of the few places that cannot be scried by magic. If you left the castle, there would be no way to prevent anyone from knowing exactly where you are."

Draco had clenched his fists and reminded himself that Malfoys didn't whine. "Of course," he'd said stiffly.

Dumbledore had gazed sympathetically at him. "If you need anything from Hogsmeade, you may ask another member of the staff to get it for you. I'm sure Severus would be happy to pick things up for you."

Draco had retreated back to his rooms in a funk, though he knew the old man was being more than reasonable. He also knew that part of the reason Dumbledore wouldn't let him go was because the old man didn't entirely trust him. In his more gracious moments, Draco could concede that he wouldn't trust himself either, if he were Dumbledore. Not with his history, and not with his father.

Which didn't bring him any closer to his goal of talking to Ginny. With his supplies neatly put away, Draco sighed and flopped down in the chair in front of his fireplace. He didn't quite understand how she had managed to become so vital to him in the scant time they'd spent together, but it didn't change the fact that he wanted badly to see her. It wasn't just that he was desperate for companionship—he had Fleur Delacour to talk to if he wanted a girl near his own age to chat up. It was because he missed _Ginny_. Missed her swift, brilliant smile and her temper and her sensible suggestions, how she seemed to know how he felt about the sorts of decisions he'd had to make and was still making. The way she kissed and the way her hands and body fit so neatly with his own....

Draco groaned and got up again, pacing across his room. He needed something to _do_. Maybe a book from the Library, or just a walk around the grounds. Anything to get him out of his rooms and stop him thinking about her, or about his father, or any of the myriad things he couldn't change from where he was. The Library was probably the best idea—he could find a book on Potions to read, and maybe Snape would stop sneering at his lack of knowledge where the more advanced brews were concerned. At least with all the work Snape had planned between tomorrow and the start of the semester next week, Draco wouldn't have so much time on his hands to spend brooding.


	5. Chapter 5

~*~

Ginny's trip to King's Cross was unusually quiet. She was the last one now, so only Mum was with her on the trip to the station; Dad had work, and the rest of her brothers were busy with their own lives. It felt so strange to be here without at least Ron to keep her company. She'd never been on the train without him or the twins, and to be honest, she wasn't looking forward to the trip. Mum kept shooting her sad, soft looks on the platform, and Ginny was trying to avoid eye contact so she wouldn't do something embarrassing like burst into tears.

"Ginny!" Zoë had arrived, tanned from her summer and smiling, her parents in tow, and she grabbed Ginny 'round the middle to give her a quick hug.

"You've cut your hair!" Ginny exclaimed. She held Zoë at arm's length and examined the other girl's head. "I love it!"

"Thanks! So do I...Mum doesn't, but she didn't want me to have it short." Zoë shook her head so that her new layers brushed her shoulders. "Colin hasn't seen it yet."

"He'll love it too," Ginny assured her. "He wouldn't dare say anything bad."

"He'd better not. We should go find seats on the train, though. Wouldn't want it to leave without us!"

Ginny gave Mum a hug, and Mum gave her usual last-minute admonishments about writing and not getting into trouble, dabbing at her eyes with a large hanky. Zoë bid her own parents goodbye, and the girls climbed on board the train to greet their classmates. They found Colin and Dennis in a compartment near the rear, and spent the trip to Hogwarts chatting about their summers and playing Exploding Snap, just like always.

By the time the train arrived at Hogwarts Station, Ginny had a terrible case of nerves. In just a few minutes she'd see Draco again, and she was a mess of excitement and dread. She hadn't heard anything from him all summer. What if he'd forgotten about her? What if he'd decided that he didn't want anything to do with her? What if something else had happened—his father had come to get him, or he'd changed his mind about not joining You-Know-Who?

The minute they walked into the Great Hall, she went a bit weak with relief. Draco was sitting beside Snape at the Head Table, pale and regal in deep navy robes. He was scanning the hall casually, a bored expression on his face. Ginny caught his eye and grinned, irrationally proud of him. Draco's mouth twitched and he looked away, but Ginny rather thought he looked pleased.

His presence there was a bit of a sensation—the Gryffindor table was abuzz with it, the younger students trading stories about why Malfoy might have come to Hogwarts, and what he was doing sitting at the Head Table—ranging from the relatively plausible (he'd been kicked out by his father) to the totally unlikely (it wasn't really Draco Malfoy at all, but a doppelganger set there to confuse any real spies He Who Must Not Be Named might have planted at Hogwarts). Ginny listened to all of them with half an ear, and spent most of her dinner smiling a bit foolishly at her plate.

Ginny didn't receive any sort of acknowledgement of her presence from him; he was being cautious, she guessed. She bit back her disappointment—after all, what could he have done? Swept her into his arms in the middle of the Great Hall?—and followed Colin and Zoë meekly up to the Gryffindor common room after supper.

The seventh-year girls retreated to their dormitory, ostensibly to unpack, but in reality it was so that Adrienne and Shelley could dissect all the changes the Gryffindor boys had gone through over the summer and recreate their hierarchy of who-was-cutest. Ginny sat on her bed with Shelley's copy of _Witch Weekly_ on her lap, flipping through the pages as she half-listened to them. It made her smile—the familiar Hogwarts dormitory, with Zoë's calm presence and even Adrienne and Shelley's prattle, was as much home as the Burrow was. It was good to be back.

Ginny looked up from the magazine as an owl sailed in through the open window and settled on Ginny's bed, cocking its head at her in an impatient manner. Adrienne and Shelley stopped talking, and even Zoë was staring; after all, why would she be getting a school owl the day started? Ginny glanced at the other girls and shrugged in answer to their unspoken questions. She was taking too much time for the owl, for it tapped the back of her hand with its beak, ruffling its feathers with what was clearly annoyance. Ginny shook herself and untied the note, trying to ignore the curious looks from the other girls.

Ginny couldn't quite suppress the thrill that went through her at the sight of Draco's heavy scrawl. Like his note to her in the summer, it was short and to the point: _Have room in dungeons near S's office. Meet me at 9 at far corridor near Potions. Owl if you can't come._

Ginny traced the words with one finger. He hadn't forgotten, and he wanted to talk to her. He'd come to Hogwarts on her advice, and he was seeking her out. She'd been so worried this summer, that she'd come to school and he'd be cold or distant, but he must have owled her first thing after supper. Gone straight to the Owlery and done it, because he wanted to see her.

He wanted to see _her_.

"So what does it say?"

Ginny jerked her head up to stare at Adrienne. She realized she must have been mooning like an idiot and tried to school her expression back to normal. "What?"

"Your note. What's it say? You've got a funny look." For what felt like the first time ever, Adrienne was staring at her with undisguised curiosity. "Can we see it?"

Ginny's eyes widened as she tried to think of a way to put the other girl off. "Um, no. It's—it's nothing, just a note from...from Professor Delacour, about my project this semester."

"Oh." Adrienne slumped back a bit on her bed, looking put out. "Thought it might be something _in_teresting."

Ginny tried to laugh lightly. "Sorry to disappoint you. It's just about homework." She waved the paper at Adrienne, folded it quickly, and stuffed it into the pocket of her robes.

Adrienne shrugged, and she and Shelley went back to their conversation. Zoë, though, had lost interest in the other girls; she got up and came to sit beside Ginny. "It's from Professor Delacour?" she asked.

Ginny nodded, not quite able to meet Zoë's eyes. "Yeah. She wants to talk to me about my project tonight. I don't even know what I'm going to tell her...I haven't thought about it."

Zoë was looking at her strangely. "I'd have thought, with NEWTs and everything, that you wouldn't bother with one this year. We're going to be busy enough as it is."

"I know. I think that's what I'll say, actually. Maybe that's what she wants...to tell me not to do one." Ginny shrugged. "I'll see later, I guess."

"I wonder what Professor Delacour thinks about Malfoy being at Hogwarts, speaking of the Dark Arts. His dad's supposed to be all in with the Death Eaters, isn't he?" Zoë said, leaning back against Ginny's headboard. "I can't believe he's _here_. Wasn't it in the paper that he'd gone missing?"

"It's strange, isn't it?" Ginny replied. Adrienne and Shelley looked up from their own conversation again, listening in. "Who'd think he'd come here?" She hoped she sounded incredulous enough.

But with Adrienne and Shelley, it hardly mattered how she sounded. They both gave up on their own talk and piled onto Ginny's bed. "I think it's grand," Adrienne said. "He's awful handsome, don't you think?"

Ginny choked, but her horrified noise was drowned out by Shelley's hoot of laughter. "I knew you fancied him! I said so last year!"

"You two are awful!" Zoë exclaimed. "Malfoy's a prat! I swear you'd think about shagging You-Know-Who if he were cute enough!"

"I wouldn't!" Adrienne protested in outrage. "That's disgusting. And anyway, I bet he isn't, so it doesn't matter."

Ginny gritted her teeth and counted the minutes until nine as the conversation drifted back into what boys were cuter, and which of them Adrienne or Shelley would consider snogging. Zoë chatted gamely along, deflecting the other girls from asking the same questions of Ginny, setting herself as a buffer between them. Ginny appreciated it more than she could say—she was in no mood to talk about who she'd snog, not when the answer was waiting for her.

At quarter to nine, Ginny excused herself and made her way down to the Potions hallway, grateful to be out of the company of the other girls. She approached Snape's office carefully, glancing around for signs of Filch. She'd made it all the way across the castle without seeing him, and she definitely wasn't going to be caught this close to her destination. The hallway itself was deserted, and Ginny made her way down to the far end slowly—Draco had said he'd be here, but he wasn't anywhere in sight. She hovered nervously, trying not to fidget.

"Ginny."

She nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of his voice. Ginny spun around, one hand pressed to her chest. "Draco." He had appeared out of the second corridor and snuck up behind her; she'd been so nervous she hadn't even noticed.

He looked at her curiously and jerked his head toward the corridor he must have emerged from. "My rooms are down here."

Ginny followed him, looking around with interest. She'd never been this deep in the dungeons before; there appeared to be all sorts of rooms off this hallway, mostly unused by the look of things. Draco stopped in front of a door about halfway down and muttered something. The door swung open, and he motioned her through.

Ginny looked around curiously. The room was small and modestly appointed: a heavy wooden bed in one corner, and two green wingback chairs arranged to form a small sitting area at the other end of the room, in front of the fireplace. There were a few throw rugs scattered on the flagstone floor, and tapestries covering the stone walls for warmth. For a dungeon room it was surprisingly warm, and looked like it would be bright during the day—there were high windows all along one wall in addition to the candle sconces spaced through the room.

Draco moved to stand between the two chairs, watching her with a wary expression. "So," he said, and stopped as if he didn't know what else to say.

Ginny flashed him a small, nervous smile. "Well, I see you made it here all right."

Draco nodded. He seemed as nervous as she was, shifting his weight from foot to foot almost imperceptibly. It was odd—he was normally so composed. He watched as she looked around the room again, but didn't say anything more. Ginny took a few tentative steps forward, glancing over the papers strewn across the heavy desk which sat near the door, and Draco actually retreated a step. This was ridiculous! Ginny stopped and frowned at him, and Draco cleared his throat. "I've been here since the beginning of August," he said by way of an apology. "Being Snape's Potions assistant."

Ginny smiled at that; she couldn't help it. It was exactly what she'd suggested, when he'd come to her in the summer. Draco caught the grin and scowled at her, which made Ginny laugh out loud. She crossed the distance between them to throw her arms around him in an impulsive hug. "I'm glad you did," she murmured into his shoulder.

"I thought you would be," he replied. He had stiffened in alarm when she touched him, but he was relaxing, inch by inch, into the hug.

"How is it going?" she asked, leaning back to look into his face. "Being Snape's assistant, I mean. I know you didn't want to."

Draco shrugged. "It's all right. I haven't done much except help him mix up potions for Madam Pomfrey and prepare lesson plans." He wrinkled his nose. "He's been threatening to hand the firsties over to me, but I think he wants to terrorize them into submission first."

Ginny laughed, remembering her first potions lesson. "That sounds like Snape."

Draco relaxed enough to rest his arms around her waist, one hand slowly stroking her back. Ginny moved forward again, resting her head against his shoulder with a contented smile. "He was...surprised to see me here," he said. "Everyone was."

"What happened?"

Draco shrugged. "Nothing, really. Dumbledore checked me for the Dark Mark, and then they decided what I could do to earn my keep and that was that. I didn't tell them anything about—about you."

"I haven't told anyone either," Ginny said. "I mean, I did have to tell my brothers that there was someone...I just didn't say that the someone was you."

Draco made a muffled noise. "That must have been fun."

"It could have been worse," she said. "Percy could have gone through with his threat to tell Mum. Who wouldn't have rested until she found out exactly who it was I was seeing, and why I hadn't told her, and what was I thinking not telling her something like that, and generally been motherly and annoying."

"How terrible."

Ginny tilted her head back to look at him, and sure enough, he was smirking at her. "You've never seen my mum in one of her fits," she said, but Draco didn't seem to be listening to her. He was looking at her mouth, his eyes dark.

Draco met her eyes for an instant, and bent his head slowly to brush his lips across hers, so gently she might barely have felt it if not for the bolt of sheer electric sensation that shot through her at his touch. Ginny smiled and slid her arms around his shoulders as he kissed her again, more fully this time, a slow, deep exploration of her mouth that left her weak-kneed and breathless. She had missed this so much, the fine silk of his hair, the softness of his skin, the way his body felt against hers...she wondered if that made her a wanton.

She didn't think she cared.

Draco moved backward slowly, pulling her with him, and sat in one of the deep wing chairs. He tugged her onto his lap and she curled up against him, finding his mouth again with her own. The sensible thing would have been to talk, to discuss what was happening, between them and in the world in general, to work out how things were going to go from here. But his hands, splayed across her ribcage and trailing tiny sparks of sensation across her skin through her shirt, and his lips on hers were all she could concentrate on. Much as Ginny knew they should talk, she couldn't think of a single thing to say that was worth stopping for.

They kissed until the candles burned low, sweet, drugging kisses that left Ginny feeling languid and light-headed. Ginny finally made herself lift her mouth from Draco's with an effort. "I should go," she whispered. Draco hummed something incomprehensible and kissed the corner of her mouth. "I really—oh—I really should."

"Not yet," he murmured, nibbling gently at her lower lip.

Ginny moaned softly and let him kiss her again. He was a _good_ kisser—not that Ginny had a wealth of experience in such matters, but she couldn't imagine anyone else making her feel like this. It was so hard to think when they were kissing, hard to remember that it was late and she still had to get all the way back to Gryffindor Tower before midnight. She pulled her mouth away again; it was even more difficult this time. "Draco, I have to go," she repeated. "I can't stay here, people will notice."

Draco made a disappointed noise and buried his face in her neck. "Come tomorrow?"

"I'll try." Ginny turned her head and kissed his hair, then his temple as he raised his head. "If not tomorrow, then the next day. It'll look strange if I'm away too often."

Draco nodded and let her slide off his lap, rising to his feet as Ginny shook out her robes and brushed at her hair. "When you can, then. If I'm not here, the password's 'highland heather'. I think Professor McGonagall set it." He gave a soft half-laugh and brushed her cheek with his hand. "Tomorrow, if you can."

"I promise." Ginny slipped out the door before she could give into the temptation to kiss him again; if she did, she'd never get back to Gryffindor Tower at all.

The dormitory was quiet and dark, and Ginny was glad for it. She knew she looked disheveled, but she couldn't have come up with a single thing to tell Zoë or the other girls if her life depended on it. Except, if they were going to do this, she'd have to have excuses handy; sooner or later they were bound to be found out. Ginny knew she ought to be more worried, knew that Mum and Dad would have fits if they knew she was involved, however seriously, with a Malfoy. And their reactions would be nothing compared to Ron's. But Ginny couldn't let go of Draco, not after everything he'd been through—not for her, but because of her, in some ways. They could make it work, she knew they could. He'd changed so much already, all on his own, and she could make her parents see that, when the time was right.

Ginny climbed into bed and curled herself around her pillow, hugging it tightly to her. Draco did care about her. He couldn't look at her the way he did and not care. They would talk things out between them the next time they met, and everything else would work itself out. The thought made her smile, and she drifted off to sleep without trouble for the first time since she'd started at school.

~*~

With the arrival of the students came Draco's first forays into teaching, which was much harder than Professor Snape made it look. Draco didn't do much for the first few classes except lurk in the back and watch, trying to stay out of Snape's way. One thing he couldn't avoid, though, was the stares of the older students, particularly the Slytherins. All of them knew who he was, and must have known that his father had reported him missing. No matter what that useless pack of Gryffindors might think, Slytherins weren't stupid; every one of them knew that he was here against Father's wishes and without his knowledge. It showed in their sneers and scornful glances, in  
the way they whispered behind his back whenever he crossed their paths.

Draco ignored the whispers as best he could and Snape kept the Slytherins in line, but it wasn't as though Draco cared what the lot of them thought. It didn't matter anymore, after all. What appearances did he have to keep up? He'd already done the worst thing he possibly could have, in Father's eyes, and the opinions of a pack of little brats who thought they were important were no concern of Draco's. But they _were_ Slytherins.

The news that he was at Hogwarts took less than a week to reach his father.

Draco didn't even get a warning; one moment he was preparing ingredients for Snape, the next his door had been flung open and Father was there, his aquiline face set in an expressionless mask that belied the absolute fury in his eyes.

Dumbledore was right behind Father, his normally kind air nowhere to be seen. "Mr. Malfoy," he was saying, "might I remind you that you are _not_ a governor of this school any longer, and that you do not have the right to charge about making demands of my staff. And I assure you that Draco is indeed a member of my staff."

"And when the Hogwarts mandate includes preventing parents from seeing their children, I do hope you'll inform me," Father said icily. "Until then, I wish to speak to my son. Alone."

"Draco is under Hogwarts protection," Dumbledore replied, equally cool. "He is also eighteen, and an adult. You cannot force him to do anything against his will."

Father stiffened, glaring at the old man. "Are you implying I might harm my own son?"

"I imply nothing, Mr. Malfoy. I am stating a fact." Dumbledore met Draco's eyes significantly. "You cannot force Draco to do anything he doesn't want. I wish to make that clear."

Father looked even more outraged. Draco cleared his throat, and nodded at Dumbledore. "Thank you, Professor. I'll speak to him alone." He had to; Father wouldn't tolerate having Dumbledore around, not in the fine rage he was in. This was going to be hard enough as it was.

 

"Very well," Dumbledore said, with a searching glance at Draco. He turned, his face growing stern. "Mr. Malfoy, I'll be waiting to escort you out when you've finished."

Father nodded stiffly, and Dumbledore turned to go, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Once the Headmaster had gone, Father made a circuit of the room, eyeing the potions work table with disdain. Finally he spun around, rested both hands on top of his cane and examined Draco coldly. "So," he said. "Here you are."

"Yes, sir," Draco said softly.

"I received a letter—several, in fact. You should be flattered at how many young students here were eager to inform their parents of your presence, so that the knowledge could be passed on to me." Father didn't look flattered; he looked more furious than Draco had ever seen him, his granite eyes boring into Draco's own. "A pity that you couldn't extend me the same courtesy."

"I'm sorry, Father, I—"

"Perhaps," and Father's voice was glacial, "you'd care to tell me what you're doing here?"

Draco didn't speak; he wasn't sure he could, even if Father were willing to listen to any explanation he might attempt. He'd never defied Father before, never borne the brunt of one of his terrifying rages—lectures about duty and poor performance were one thing, but this was entirely another. Draco wanted to be anywhere but here, with a desperation that threatened to choke him.

Father folded raised his eyebrows at Draco. "Can you not even answer a simple question? Or is it merely that you _have_ no explanation for your presence here," and he thumped his cane on the flagstones, "when you _should_ be at Malfoy Manor enjoying the position I have endeavored to secure for you?"

Draco shook his head mutely, and Father leaned back on his heels. "I thought as much. I suppose you'll have ample time to think about it in the carriage back to the Manor—I trust it will be suitable, for when our Lordship invites you to join him again..._if_ he does. Certainly I will be interested to hear what sort of explanation you might have for this sort of...defiance." Father spun on one heel in an impressive swirl of rich wool and strode toward the door, clearly expecting Draco to follow.

"No." Draco's voice was weak, with none of the conviction he might have wished behind it. "I'm not leaving."

Father went rigid. He turned to stare at Draco as he might have looked at a house elf who'd spoken out of turn. "What did you just say?"

"I said no," Draco repeated. "I won't go back." It was easier the second time; Draco lifted his chin and met Father's icy eyes.

"I see," Father said, his voice low and deadly. "You _refuse_ me. Is that what seven years in this place have taught you? Does your family name mean nothing to you?'

"Father, it's not—"

"No." Father sliced at the air with his cane, his face a rigid mask of anger. "I can see now that you are not the boy I thought you were. I have done everything in my power to ensure that you would have everything I might wish for a Malfoy. I have worked for _years_ to create a position for you amongst the social elite, to ensure a place for you in society that befits our lineage, and you stand there and tell me that you do not accept it." Father pulled himself up, the very image of noble hauteur. "This, then, is what all of my work has brought me, my years of effort, trying to do what is right for my only child. A spoiled, useless brat who isn't fit to bear the Malfoy name."

The words were like a physical blow. Draco knew that in some ways he had always been a disappointment to Father, that he wasn't good enough, quick enough, in classes or on the Quidditch pitch, but to hear Father _say_ it hurt more than anything else. "Father, I—"

"Your mother must bear partial blame. She was far too lenient with you, I can see that now. Perhaps if your upbringing were handled differently, if I had not indulged her womanish desire to keep you close at hand and sent you to Durmstrang from the beginning, you would not now be turning your back on your family." Father shook his head in disgust. "But no. Instead I send you _here_ and in payment for my kindness to your mother, you have chosen to reject everything I have done for you."

Draco could feel something breaking inside him, something vital, with every word Father spoke. "Father, please. Let me explain—"

Father shook his head, staring at Draco with a cold, unreadable expression. "Your actions speak for you. You," he said, deadly quiet, "are not my son."

And he spun on his heel and walked out.

~*~

Ginny followed Colin and Zoë down from Gryffindor Tower, watching her two friends as they bent their heads close together, probably whispering endearments as they walked. For once, seeing them sharing things didn't make her feel left out; they really were adorable together, and Ginny was genuinely happy for them. She glanced up at the Head Table as they entered the Great Hall, searching its length for a familiar blond head. They'd only managed to meet twice since the first day of school, and both times, they'd spent more time kissing than talking. She was supposed to meet him tonight, too, since Colin and Zoë had a study date. Ginny could hardly wait.

But Draco wasn't at the Head Table, his normal seat next to Snape empty. He didn't normally miss meals, and she couldn't imagine where else he might be. Ginny fretted about it all through dinner, so distracted that she barely noticed when Zoë and Colin tried to engage her in conversation. They gave up eventually and after dinner, when they went back up to the common room to study, Ginny begged off to make her way to the library. She had some time before she could safely go see Draco, and she needed to pull some books for her Charms essay anyway. Might as well kill two birds with one stone.

She was standing in the stacks next to two fifth-year Slytherin boys, trying to ignore them as she searched for useful texts. She recognized one of them as Eustace Warrington, who was the son of one of Dad's co-workers, and she thought the other played beater for Slytherin, though she couldn't remember his name. They were whispering loudly to each other, clearly not interested in the books they were ostensibly looking at.

"You'll never guess who I saw today," the first boy said. "Lucius Malfoy."

Ginny froze.

Warrington shrugged. "So?"

"So, if he were here, that means that he must have come to talk to Malfoy," the first boy said impatiently. "And if Malfoy didn't leave with him, I bet that means that what my father said was true. Malfoy _isn't_ here spying. He ran away."

Warrington snorted. "Why would he? That doesn't—"

"Because he's a coward, isn't he? Hiding here behind Dumbledore's robes because he's too scared to follow a _real_ wizard." The first boy curled his lip with contempt. "And it doesn't surprise me one bit. I always knew he wasn't all that. Just because his father's rich..."

Ginny must have made some noise, because they both stopped talking and glanced around. The first boy spotted Ginny and his lip curled even more. "What are _you_ looking at?"

"Not _much_," Ginny snapped, glaring at him.

The boy stiffened and opened his mouth to say something, but Warrington grabbed his arm. "Teacher!" he hissed, and pulled his friend away toward the back of the library.

Ginny glanced around and saw Madam Pince approaching the stacks, arms full of books. She ducked the librarian, hitched her book bag up on her shoulder and started down the main aisle of the library, intent on going to the dungeons to find Draco. No more killing time; Merlin only knew how he must be feeling, if his father had visited him.

Luck was with her, and she didn't meet any students on her trip through the dungeons. At Draco's door Ginny paused to knock, but no answer came from within. She glanced nervously up and down the hall and whispered the password. The door sprang open, and she hurried through, shutting it quietly behind her.

The room was dark, the fire cold, but she knew he was here; he had to be. Where else would he go?

"Draco?" she called cautiously, stepping forward. There was no answer, but two more steps took her close enough to see that he was sprawled in one of the chairs in front of the fireplace, his long legs stretched out before him. "Draco?" she said again, but he didn't move.

Ginny walked forward swiftly, coming around the chair to look at him. He was drawn and white, his face half-shadowed by the chair's wing, and he didn't even look at her as she knelt and took his hands gently. "Draco," she said. "What...?"

"He disowned me," Draco whispered, and his voice was so full of shocked disbelief it made her heart ache to hear it. "He said—he said I wasn't his son, that I didn't deserve to be a Malfoy. That I was spoiled and ungrateful and not...not..." He broke off and shut his eyes, his normal arrogance nowhere to be found.

"He's wrong," Ginny said, tightening her hands on his. "You're _not_ spoiled, and you're _not_ undeserving. You're one of the bravest people I know, and I'm so proud of you."

"For what?" Draco spat. His eyes flew open, and his expression hardened. "For being a coward? For running away? Oh, that's brave. I should be _proud_ that I've totally failed, that I couldn't be what he wanted. You're so right."

"You couldn't tie yourself to something you didn't believe in," Ginny replied softly. "And you wouldn't let him make you be something you aren't." She reached up and smoothed his hair away from his forehead gently. "I don't know if I could have done it...gone against my family's wishes like that."

"You wouldn't _have_ to," Draco sneered. He jerked away from her hand. "What could you do that would make your perfect little family cast you out? I thought that forgiving and being _nice_ was just what Gryffindors _did_."

Ginny knew he was upset, and lashing out at her because she was there. She knew that he didn't really mean it, that he wasn't angry at _her_, but it didn't help. It was infuriating, that he could actually think such a thing, that he could say something like that to her. "You really think my family wouldn't do the same thing to me? You think I have nothing to lose?"

"You _don't_, and I already know about your precious family. Didn't you say to me that they'd help me if I needed it?" Draco's lip was curled, the insolent drawl back in his voice. "Your family and mine can hardly be compared."

"How dare you?" Ginny dropped his hands and pushed herself away from his chair, scrambling to her feet. "How pleased do you think my mum would be to find out about us? Or Ron? Or _any_ of my brothers? Do you know what my dad would say to me if he knew I had bonked a _Malfoy_? Under his roof, no less!" She backed up another step and swallowed hard against the lump of anger and hurt lodged in her throat. "Just because we don't have _money_ doesn't mean that their opinions matter less to me than your father's does to you!"

Draco snorted. "Well, it's not like you'd be losing much."

Ginny went rigid. "_What_?"

"You heard me. It would hardly be some great loss, not to be a Weasley anymore," Draco drawled. "I suppose they'd be grateful to have one less mouth to feed."

Ginny wasn't going to hit him, she decided, much as he deserved it; she was far too livid to trust herself. "If that's what you really think of me, then I don't even know why I'm here. Why I've _bothered_, since you're ever so much more important than I am. Well, you don't need to worry that I'll bother you anymore!" She spun around and stalked toward the door, without waiting to see what he'd say. She didn't want to hear it.

"Ginny, wait."

She paused, her hand on the door, and stared at the dark wood for a moment, breathing deeply. He didn't have the right to say those things and expect her to stay. He _didn't_.

"Please." Draco's voice cracked on the word, and despite herself Ginny turned to look. He was standing between the chairs, his hand gripping the back of one with such force his knuckles were white.

"Don't. Don't go. Please. I...I'm sorry." The words seemed to take all the energy out of him. "I'm sorry."

Ginny shook her head. "You can't just say things like that about my family and expect me to not get angry," she said. "They're my family, and I love them, and they're as much a part of me as your family is of you. I don't say anything about yours, I've _never_ said anything about yours, and your father nearly killed me once. If anyone has the right to be saying awful things, I think it's me."

"I know." He raised his head, and the desolation in his eyes made her gasp. "And I won't. Just...please." His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. "Don't go."

Ginny wavered. The cool, sensible part of her, the one that sounded like Mum or Percy, was saying that she should just leave, walk out the door and never come back. She deserved better than to be treated with scorn just because he felt like lashing out, no matter how sorry he sounded now.

But he needed her. How often had _anyone_ needed her, in her entire life? Tom, but Tom had been a memory, using her for his own ends. Draco needed _her_. Ginny let her hand drop from the door handle and walked back across the room to stand in front of him. She reached out and took his hand in hers, rubbing gently at his knuckles. He inhaled sharply and tugged her closer, pulling her against his chest and wrapping his arms tightly around her, his cheek against her hair.

"I can't—" he said brokenly, "I did everything he wanted, I _tried_—everything he ever asked, except this. I couldn't do it, not even for him. He always said, over and over, that he believes in purity, and doing things properly, and no one in their right mind could say that _thing_ is doing things properly and I can't—just because I can't—"

Ginny smoothed her hands over his back, wishing she could brush his hurt away that easily. He was right about one thing; she _didn't_ know what this must be like for him. She couldn't imagine her parents disowning her, no matter what she'd done. "But you're doing the right thing," she said. "Draco, you _are_."

"Am I?" he demanded, pulling back from her. "You think so, and I know Dumbledore does, but if it's really so right then why—" He shook his head and let go of her, turning to pace in front of the fireplace, scrubbing at his hair. "Why am I believing _you_, over my own father? He's right, he's _always_ right. Except he's _not_. And now he hates me, and I can't—" He dropped into one of the chairs and his voice sank to a whisper. "I can't bear it."

"You can, you know," Ginny said, and the calm in her voice surprised even herself. "You'd be surprised at how much we can bear, if we have to."

Draco swiped angrily at his face with one hand. "How would _you_ know?"

Of course, he didn't know, because she never had told him that whole story. "Colin," she said quietly, and he looked up, bewildered. "Hermione, Penny—she's my brother Percy's girlfriend. Justin Finch-Fletchley, I didn't know him, but he was in one of Ron's classes. And Nearly Headless Nick, who would have died if he hadn't already been a ghost. And Mrs. Norris. Ron thought I was upset because I liked _cats_." Ginny gave a hollow little laugh. "It was only luck, that nobody died. Sheer luck. And if they had died, it would have been my fault. My responsibility. All through that year I thought I couldn't tell anyone what was happening, that if anyone found out it was me letting the Basilisk out, Mum and Dad would be so ashamed, and I wouldn't be able to bear it. But they did find out, and I could bear it."

"But they didn't tell you that you weren't their daughter anymore," Draco said. "You didn't lose your family."

"No," Ginny replied softly. "But I lost my best friend."

Draco didn't seem to know what to say to that. He slumped back into the chair, resting his head against the back tiredly. "Come here," he said finally, holding his hand out to her. Ginny moved forward and slid her fingers into his; he tugged on her hand until she was settled on his lap, her head against his shoulder. She let her eyes fall closed, listening to his soft breath, feeling his chest rise and fall beneath her cheek.

"It'll be all right," she said after a long moment, feeling acutely how useless the words were. "In time. It'll stop feeling so terrible."

Draco nodded, bumping the top of her head with his chin. She pushed away slightly and turned to look up at him. He still had that lost, bleak look in his eyes, tired and angry and sad. Ginny cupped his jaw with one hand, pulling his face toward hers. She kissed him gently, not knowing what else to do; she wished she could give him more than just this.

It seemed to be enough though, at least for now. Ginny stayed as long as she could, until she had to leave or risk getting caught by Filch in the halls.

"Come tomorrow," Draco said as she was leaving, curling his fingers around hers, echoing their first night here.

"I will," she said instantly. Colin and Zoë wouldn't notice if she were away again tomorrow, and if they did, she'd think of a good way to put them off. "I promise."

~*~

They didn't talk about it, and Draco was grateful. The idea of discussing his father and having to think about everything he'd done left him feeling raw and exposed; it made his chest ache, as though he couldn't get enough air. Ginny seemed to understand that and didn't press him, and she still came to see him every time she could get away.

They had to be cautious about meeting, with things as tense as they were—the teachers were told not to alarm the students, but outside of Hogwarts things were verging on dire. The war was being conducted in small raids and skirmishes, isolated attacks of the sort Draco had seen his father planning over the summer. Draco didn't know how Ginny managed to sneak all the way down to the dungeons from Gryffindor Tower as often as she did.

She was coming tonight, after nearly a week of enforced absence because of the escalated tension outside Hogwarts, and Draco was jittery with suppressed excitement. She said she had a surprise planned, and he was dying to know what it was. He was very bad at surprises—when he was small he used to sneak around the Manor looking for his birthday and Christmas presents, so he'd know what they were beforehand. But Ginny wouldn't say what hers was, and with their separation, he hadn't been able to pester it out of her.

He was nearly beside himself by the time she finally arrived, slipping through the door with a small grin. "Hullo," she said, and kissed his cheek.

"Where is it?" Draco demanded, looking her over. She had a dark cloak over her arm, but she didn't seem to be carrying anything else. Maybe it was small.

Ginny giggled and pulled away from him. "You'll see. Get your cloak."

"My cloak?"

"Your cloak. We're going out," Ginny said. She pushed him in the direction of his wardrobe. "I want to show you something."

"What about my surprise?" Draco asked sulkily. This wasn't at all what he'd had in mind.

"This _is_ your surprise. I can't bring it with me, I have to bring you to it." Ginny was grinning

Draco collected his cloak with bad grace. "You're not allowed in the halls after curfew."

"I know, but that's not a problem." Ginny grinned at him, swung the cloak she'd been carrying over her shoulders, and promptly faded into shadow.

Draco blinked, staring at the spot he knew she was standing. He could see her, but it was as though she was obscured by dark smoke, the outline of her body blurred and distorted. "What in Merlin's name is that?"

Ginny grinned and pushed the hood off her head, which looked very eerie. "It's a Shadow cloak. Sort of like an Invisibility cloak, only it makes you shadowy rather than totally invisible. Makes it harder to spot you when you've got it on. My brother Bill sent it to me," she said. "Was supposed to be a birthday present, but he was late. He always is. But it's brilliant, really, and dead useful, so I can't complain."

"Oh." Shadow cloaks weren't as expensive or as rare as invisibility cloaks—Potter had one of the latter, which had always irritated Draco to no end. He would have killed to have an Invisibility cloak.

Ginny pulled her hood up again, and Draco followed her shadowed form through the castle. It quickly became clear that she was heading for the Astronomy Tower. Why she'd want to haul him all the way up here for an assignation he didn't know, when he had a perfectly good private room, but he was willing to humour her.

When they got to the top of the Tower, Ginny removed her cloak and tilted her head back to gaze at the stars through the narrow opening in the roof. "I love it up here," she whispered, her voice tinted with awe. "I always have. Astronomy's my favourite class."

"Even more than Arithmancy?" Draco asked. He grinned as she lowered her eyes to glare at him.

"Just about anything's better than Arithmancy," Ginny griped. She took his hand, leading him toward the stairs up to the observation deck. "Come here, and I'll show you why this is better."

Draco allowed himself to be led up the narrow stair that wound around the telescope in the central observatory, and out onto the observation deck. "What are we doing here, anyway?" Climbing all the way up the Astronomy Tower to sit in the cold didn't strike him as particularly enjoyable.

"This is your surprise, silly. We're going to look at the stars." Ginny flashed him a mischievous, quicksilver grin and clambered over the wrought-iron fence that divided the observation deck from the rest of the roof.

"To look at the stars?" Draco said incredulously. She'd dragged him out here to go _star-gazing_?

"Of course. What'd you think we were up here for? Come on." She nimbly made her way up the edge of the roof peak, apparently oblivious to the dizzying drop to either side of her. At the very top was a small, flat space, as though someone had sliced off the very tip of the Tower, leaving barely enough room for three people to sit. Ginny reached it and turned around, sitting down carefully.

Draco thought his heart might stop, watching her. One false move and she'd be a bloody smear on the courtyard cobbles, hundreds of feet below. "What are you doing?" he hissed. "Get down from there!"

Ginny grinned down at him, clearly pleased with herself. "Come on up," she said. "You're not scared, are you?"

Draco scowled, but gingerly hoisted himself over the fence and started to make his way up to where she was perched. Flying on a broomstick was one thing, but traipsing across rooftops in the dead of night was something else entirely. At least on a broom there was something holding you up. "You're out of your mind," he said when he reached the top and was seated firmly beside her. "What'd happen if you fell?"

"Oh, we're far enough off the ground that I'd manage to get my wand out and cast a cushioning charm or something," Ginny said airily. "But it's up here you get the best views. Look!" She gestured around them with one arm, and Draco looked.

The Astronomy Tower was the tallest in the castle, and up here at the very top, it seemed as though they were at the top of the world. The lake and glen spread out below them, the parapets of the castle gleaming in the starlight, the lights of Hogsmeade twinkling off in the distance. It was a clear night and the sky looked like a blanket of black velvet, sprinkled with diamonds.

"Wow," he said quietly. No one could hear them, not up here this late at night, but the immensity of the silence kept him from talking too loud. Ginny slipped her arm around his waist, clearly pleased, and tugged Draco down so that they lay in the small space, and all that was visible was the expanse of night sky.

"I knew you'd like it," she whispered back, resting her head on his shoulder. "Charlie told me about it, from when he was here, and it was the first thing I did in first year, to come find it. I used to come up here to write."

"By yourself?"

"Of course. It's so beautiful, and looking at the stars is one of my favourite things. If you're up here, no one ever spots you, even if they're out on the observation deck." Ginny tilted her head up so that she could kiss his jaw softly. "I just...wanted to show you. I mean, I know it's sort of silly, but we can't go anywhere like a real date, and I thought this would be the next best thing."

"Oh." Draco would never have thought of something like this, something so innocent and casual. Especially not as a date—in his experience, taking a girl out involved dressing up and fancy dresses and a great deal of excess cutlery. Not risking horrible death to sit on a rooftop and look at the sky.

Ginny bit her lip with a small shrug. "I mean, it's a bit of a silly idea, and boring, we don't have to stay if you don't want, we can go back—"

"No. No, it's fine." And it was fine. Different, but if Ginny wanted to do this, he would stay. Draco tightened his arms around her, then shifted so that he could drape his cloak over both of them. He muttered a warming charm and settled her against his chest again, her curls tickling his throat. "There. Now tell me what's so fascinating about Astronomy."

He couldn't see her face, but he could feel her smile, read her pleasure in the way she cuddled against him and began to point up at constellations, telling him their origins, myths he'd never heard of, fanciful stories about gods, goddesses and heroes. When the moon rose, she told him stories about that; myths she'd learned either from children's stories or tales she'd learned in Muggle Studies.

"I always wanted to go there," Draco said, after Ginny fell silent. "I thought it would be wonderful. The whole thing, all to yourself. No one around to bother you, make you do anything you didn't want to...it'd be brilliant." He chuckled. "And it's so silvery and cool looking."

"Muggles have been there," Ginny said. "Professor Sapien says that they built a ship to take them there, nearly 30 years ago now. You couldn't live there...there's no air. They had to bring it with them."

"Really?" Draco tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice, hiding it under irritability. "How'd they manage to get there in a boat?"

Ginny giggled, muffling her face in his robes. "Not a boat...a space ship. Like an aeroplane, only built to be able to go into space. The Americans built it, so I suppose you might not have heard, but they went to the moon and came back."

"Oh." Draco couldn't have said why, but the thought that Muggles had managed to get to the moon and wizards never had saddened him.

"Someday the Muggles will reach the stars," Ginny went on wistfully. "And see what's beyond our own sun. Professor Sapien says the Muggles have built a space station, a special floating house that stays in the sky above the earth, and they can live up there all the time. Can you imagine?" She sounded dreamy and very far away.

Draco tightened his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. "We'll do it too. We'll go wherever you want. If Muggles can, so can we."

Ginny raised herself up on her arms so that she could look at him, her face serious. "Do you really mean that?"

Draco nodded, and was rewarded with the brilliant smile he loved, that lit up her features and made her eyes shine with happiness. "Thank you," she whispered, and leaned down to kiss him, then snuggled into his chest again. "Did I tell you the story about Orion? That's the constellation rising just over the trees."

"No, I don't think so," Draco said. He settled her more comfortably against him and hugged her closer. "Tell me."

They lay on the roof until the warming spell had leached completely out of Draco's cloak and Ginny started to shiver slightly from the chill. Even then, Draco was reluctant to suggest they go; he wanted to stay here for as long as they could, to preserve this moment forever.

But it couldn't last forever, and before long they had to pick their way down off the roof and back to the real world. Draco walked with Ginny almost to the entrance of Gryffindor Tower, and kissed her once more before letting her go. "I'll see you tomorrow?" he asked quietly.

"I think so," Ginny said. "I'll try. If not tomorrow, then the night after. Zoë and Colin will notice if I'm gone too many nights in a row, especially with everything so on edge."

Draco nodded. He knew they had to be careful, but it was agony to be without her, even for a day. Ginny squeezed his hands and kissed him quickly, managing a tremulous smile before she pulled away and ran up the stairs toward her common room. Draco watched her go with an odd, half-painful ache in his chest—tonight had been perfect, and it was with great reluctance that he made his way back to his lonely dungeon room.

~*~

Ginny moaned low in her throat and curled one hand in Draco's hair, arching against him as his mouth traveled down her neck. They were sprawled across his bed in a tangle of limbs and cloth, Ginny's books pushed carelessly onto the floor. She had been studying earlier, but she hadn't been able to concentrate on school work for very long. Not with Draco lying beside her on his bed, pretending to read while he trailed his fingers through her hair. That had quickly turned to gentle caresses and then to kissing; it almost always did, and that was one good reason why she didn't come here if she had real work to do.

Not that she minded being distracted this way.

Draco raised himself up on his arms, hovering over her and looking down at her face with eyes dark with desire. Ginny shivered despite herself, her own eyes drifting half-shut under the weight of his gaze. He lowered his head to kiss her, deep and slow, bracing his body so that they didn't quite touch. Ginny bunched her hands in his shirt and tried to pull him down onto her, wanting him closer still, but he resisted her, finally pulling away completely to flop onto his back beside her.

"We should stop," he muttered, his eyes dropping shut.

It was all Ginny could do not to scream with frustration.

They had developed a pattern; they would kiss, and occasionally move further, but once they reached a certain point Draco would pull back, unwilling to go further. Ginny wasn't sure if he was acting out of some sort of misplaced desire to be chivalrous or if he genuinely didn't want to do anything more serious than snogging. Either way, it was driving her half-mad. She wanted more than just kisses—they had _done_ more than just kiss, and she didn't believe Draco had forgotten that already. She certainly hadn't; she'd been taking an anti-pregnancy potion since September, just in case.

She lay still for a moment, then reached across the short space that separated them and twined her fingers with his. "We don't have to, you know," she said softly.

"Don't have to what?"

"Stop." Ginny rolled on to her side so she could look at him. "We could..." She let the sentence trail off, knowing she was blushing but unable to help it. "I mean, there's nothing stopping us from...carrying on."

Draco turned his head toward her, his own face flushed. "You want to?"

Ginny barely resisted rolling her eyes. "Yes. I mean, we _have_, and I do, and if you do, there's no reason not to." She couldn't quite bring herself to say the actual words, but she was sure he knew what she meant. She was tired of all this _waiting_.

"I don't want to push you," Draco said, so softly she almost couldn't hear him.

"You're _not_," Ginny muttered. "In fact, that's the problem." She sat up and moved toward him, swinging one leg over his torso and straddling him before he could move away.

He made a small, desperate sound that came close to being a whimper as she settled against his body, his hands coming up to grip her thighs. "_Ginny_."

"Shhhh," she whispered, and leaned back into his hips. His breath caught, and Ginny couldn't suppress a small smile; it was obvious now that his reluctance to move further wasn't for lack of wanting her. She undid the cuffs of her shirt, then started to unfasten the buttons running down the front. Draco watched her, his chest rising and falling quickly, his eyes riveted to her hands. When all the buttons were free, Ginny slid the shirt off her shoulders and tossed it to one side, then reached back to unfasten her bra, never taking her eyes from his face. "Draco," she said, when that had been discarded too, and waited while he dragged his eyes back up to hers. "I want this. I want _you_."

Draco swallowed hard and nodded, his hands flexing on her legs. Ginny dropped forward until she lay atop him full length, the fabric of his under-robe rough against her skin. His hands came up to caress her back, skating across her back as though he wasn't sure where to touch her first. Ginny smiled against his mouth and kissed him as deeply as she knew how.

It had precisely the effect she wanted. Draco groaned into her mouth and rolled over so that she was beneath him. Ginny took the opportunity to unfasten his under-robe and slide her hands across his bare skin, something she had been longing to do since the summer. He felt exactly as she remembered; softness laid over whipcord muscle and bone. She hummed happily as he sank to the bed, his chest pressing against hers, skin against skin. This was _exactly_ what she wanted.

It was far less awkward, this time. Draco touched her as though she was made of glass, gently seeking out every place that made her gasp or moan, that made her arch against him in pleasure, until she thought she might go mad with wanting him. "Please," she whispered, pulling at his arms. "Draco..."

He raised himself up on his arms, mouth curling in a satisfied smile as he slid into her. Ginny gasped and arched again, lifting her hips and wrapping one arm around his waist to pull him closer still. And then he leaned down to kiss her, and there was no pain or awkwardness at all, only him, and her own joy.

~*~

Draco spent the next day or so in an absentminded haze and earned more than one berating lecture from Snape for his inattention. But he could hardly be blamed—all he could think about was Ginny. It was a small mercy that he didn't have to spend time in class with the seventh years, for he'd never have managed at all, with her in the same room.

It was distracting enough having her here, in his rooms, Draco thought. Ginny was nestled against his chest, her legs intertwined with his, her breath sending distracting little shivers through him as it skated across his collarbone. Draco curled a lock of scarlet hair around his fingers and smiled to himself. It was hard to believe it had only been a few days since they had decided to do this—or rather, Ginny had decided for them. He supposed he had her to thank for it, for being so...unafraid. She was brilliant, really; she had made up her mind that they should go further and then simply taken them there, a step Draco had been worrying over for weeks. A small part of him was a tiny bit resentful that she had taken the decision out of his hands, but mostly he was overwhelmingly relieved that he hadn't had to come out and _ask_.

Ginny kissed him on the cheek, blithely unaware of his train of thought, and got out of bed to disappear into the bath. Which was another amazing thing about her; she seemed to have no self-consciousness whatsoever, now that they'd begun having sex on a regular basis. Draco grinned to himself. She was so utterly unlike any other girl he'd ever met. He couldn't imagine someone like Pansy daring to walk about in the nude, even the short distance from his bed to the toilet.

"I've got to leave," Ginny said when she came out. She began picking up her clothes and dressing while Draco watched with a small twinge of disappointment. "I've got about 10 minutes to make it back to Gryffindor before I break curfew and get detention."

Draco swung his legs over the edge of the bed and fished for his own robes, standing to pull them on. "I know. I should check on my valerian, anyway. I think it might have steeped too long." He glanced over at his work cauldron, which was simmering merrily. He hoped it hadn't; Snape would skin him alive if he ruined it.

"All right, then. I'll try to come tomorrow. Or the weekend, at the very least," Ginny said. It was a Hogsmeade weekend, but Dumbledore and McGonagall hadn't decided whether to let the students go. If they did go, Ginny would probably stay behind—to revise, or so she'd tell her friends, though Draco didn't plan to let her do much actual studying. "We've got a quiz in Arithmancy coming up, and I'll have to go over my notes, so I don't know for sure."

"Perhaps you'd better do that instead of visiting me, then," he said, and smirked at her. "Since you need all the help you can get..."

"Oh!" Ginny poked him in the ribs. "Just for that I ought to not come."

"No. Come, and I'll help you if you like," Draco said. Even helping her revise—though technically against the rules—was better than having her not come at all. He missed her terribly when she wasn't with him.

Ginny smiled at that. "All right, then. But you have to promise that we'll _study_, and not get distracted."

"It's not _my_ fault you're distracting," Draco protested.

Ginny just laughed and grabbed his robe to haul him close for a kiss. "I'll see you tomorrow," she murmured, and slipped out with a jaunty flip of her hand.

Draco stared at the door for a moment, smiling foolishly, then turned his attention back to the cauldron full of distilled valerian root and carefully reduced the heat. It had simmered a bit too long, but it wasn't ruined—he was safe from Snape's wrath in that regard.

He muttered a cooling charm over the cauldron so he could store the tincture, and was about to pull bottles down from his shelves when a knock sounded at his door. "Come in," he called, straightening up.

Snape entered and shut the door quietly behind him. Draco raised his eyebrows in surprise—Snape didn't normally come by his rooms this late. He moved around the workbench as the Potions master faced him, arms crossed over his black-draped chest, one dark eyebrow raised. "Ginny Weasley?" he asked quietly.

Draco felt his blood turn to ice. "Weasley?" he asked, keeping his voice level. "What about her?"

"Don't be coy, Mr. Malfoy. I just saw her leave here." Snape's cold, black eyes flickered over the rumpled bed and back to Draco's face. "Unless you want to try and convince me Miss Weasley has some sort of double."

Draco considered strategies, and decided to brazen it out. "She was looking for help on a Potions assignment."

"Really?" Snape said. "And that would explain, of course, why she left here without her potions kit, or indeed anything resembling a schoolbook." He drifted over to Draco's bed and reached out to twitch the coverlet. "If you'll forgive my saying so, it doesn't appear that you were mixing _potions_ here."

Draco opened his mouth to protest, but Snape spun to face him, one hand raised to forestall comment. His lip was curled in a familiar sneer. "I could give you the standard lecture about fraternizing with students, Mr. Malfoy, which is expected of me seeing as you are my assistant and therefore my responsibility. In fact I expected to need to give you that lecture some time this term. However, I didn't expect to need to do so quite so soon. Nor did I expect to need to do so because you were fraternizing with a _Weasley_. How long," he continued, overriding Draco's outraged objection, "has this been going on? Since I find it difficult to believe that you've managed to overcome even Miss Weasley's scant good sense in the two months since the beginning of term."

Draco glared at his erstwhile teacher, jaw clenched. "It's none of your business," he said tightly. He wasn't going to tell Snape a thing if he could help it, not just for his own sake, but Ginny's as well. God only knew what Snape would do to her; he liked the Weasleys as little as Draco once had.

Snape met his glare impassively. "Dumbledore will have to be informed."

"No!" Draco said emphatically, trembling with rage. "Absolutely not!"

"You don't have any choice in the matter, Mr. Malfoy," Snape sneered. "If you were still my student discipline in this matter would fall to me, but as you've outgrown that role, the matter will have to be taken to Dumbledore. You have a _responsibility_ here, a concept you seem to be unclear on."

"It's none of his business," Draco said. "And it's none of yours, either!"

"You are _sleeping_ with a _student_!" Snape roared. "The minute you decided to compromise your position here in such a ridiculous fashion, it _became_ my business! Dumbledore allowed you to stay here, offered you his protection, and the very first thing you do is to flout his rules and throw his decision back in his face!"

"That's not what's happened!" Draco shouted back. "It isn't something that I just decided on some whim! Ginny—" he snapped his mouth shut suddenly. He had no idea where to begin to explain it to Snape. He glared at the older man as defiantly as he could, crossing his own arms over his chest and raising his chin.

"This is not over, Mr. Malfoy," Snape growled. "You can be sure that I will speak to Dumbledore about this _immediately_." He spun in a whirl of black robes and left, closing Draco's door with a quiet snick that was more damning than any show of temper. Draco sank into his chair slowly, heart pounding. God only knew what Dumbledore would do.

*

True to his word, Snape descended on Draco at breakfast the next morning and bodily dragged him up to Dumbledore's office despite Draco's muttered protests. He snarled the password at the gargoyle and stalked up the stairs, his hand clenched like a vice around Draco's arm.

Dumbledore looked up in surprise when they entered, Snape pushing Draco before him like a recalcitrant child. "Severus?" the Headmaster said. "Is there a problem?"

Snape pushed Draco unceremoniously into a chair and whirled to face Dumbledore. "A _problem_. You might say that, Albus. I discovered last night that this ingrate," and he shot Draco a look full of venomous scorn, "has chosen to forget the kindness you have shown him by allowing him to stay here and is repaying your benevolence by sleeping with a student."

Snape looked far too pleased with himself; Draco knew he liked to torment students, but he'd never seen Snape so maliciously vindictive. Certainly not toward Draco. Snape caught his glance and smiled nastily, leaning back against one of the bookcases, arms crossed over his black-clad chest.

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows and examined Draco over the tops of his spectacles, his wrinkled hands folded on top of his desk. "Is this true, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco stared back and didn't say anything, mentally refusing to give an inch. He wasn't going to tell Dumbledore a damn thing he didn't have to.

Snape made an impatient noise. "Of course it's true. He as much as admitted it to me."

"And the name of the student?"

Snape's smile got even nastier. "Ginny Weasley."

Dumbledore blinked in surprise. "Indeed?" He frowned thoughtfully, his steady gaze on Draco. "And how long has this been going on, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco set his jaw and looked away. He wasn't going to answer, wasn't going to tell them anything. Ginny was the only one who deserved his loyalty; he wasn't going to give her up to them willingly. Snape made an impatient sound, and he saw Dumbledore motion the Potions master to silence out of the corner of his eye. It was absolutely silent in the office for a long moment, and then Dumbledore rose to his feet.

"I see," Dumbledore said sternly. "If you don't wish to speak of the matter, we will have to approach this in a different way. I'd like you both to remain here, please, while I go and fetch Miss Weasley."

~*~


	6. Chapter 6

~*~

Ginny was walking toward Transfiguration with Zoë, Colin and Sanjeet, chatting with them about their upcoming essay for Professor McGonagall, when Dumbledore appeared behind them and cleared his throat. They all turned, straightening nervously at the sight of the Headmaster smiling down on them.

"I'm terribly sorry to have startled you all," he said kindly. "But I need to have a word with Miss Weasley in my office." He nodded to the others. "If you could inform Professor McGonagall that Miss Weasley will be with me all class?"

Zoë, Colin and San all nodded, casting worried glances at Ginny. She shrugged and shook her head—she had no idea what Dumbledore wanted. He waited for her to resettle her bag, smiling that calm, gentle smile all the while. Ginny nodded nervously, unable to summon up a smile in response, and followed Dumbledore to the entrance to his office. He murmured "Pepper Imps," to the gargoyle and motioned her to precede him up the spiral stair. Ginny went, pushed open the door at the top, and stopped short.

Draco was sitting sullenly in the chair in front of Dumbledore's desk and Snape was lounging against a bookshelf like a dark, avenging angel. A wave of sheer terror swept through her; she reached out to the doorframe to steady herself as her knees went weak. They were caught, of course they were going to get caught, and now she'd be expelled, and Mum would never forgive her, and oh Merlin, she'd never be able to look Dad in the eye again...

Dumbledore rested a hand on her shoulder, bringing her out of her terrified freeze, and guided her up the stairs to his desk and into the chair beside Draco's. Ginny cast a despairing look at him, but Draco was staring at the tops of his shoes, scowling. He wouldn't have volunteered information on their relationship—at least, she didn't think he would.

Dumbledore settled himself behind his desk and cleared his throat. "First of all I must say, Miss Weasley, that you're not in any trouble." Snape made an abortive gesture, and Dumbledore looked sternly at the Potions master over the tops of his eyeglasses. "I do confess to a certain curiosity, however," Dumbledore went on quietly. "I am usually aware of what is happening in my school. In fact, I pride myself on it. And yet there seems to be something here that I quite missed. Now my dear," he said kindly to Ginny, "you needn't look so frightened. I'm not going to punish you. I am only curious. How did your relationship with Mr. Malfoy start?"

Ginny shifted nervously and swallowed, trying to moisten her dry throat. "I—I—that is, we—" She stopped and took a deep breath, trying to organize her thoughts into coherency. "There was a boggart," she said finally, "in fifth year." Just saying those words made it easier to go on, to tell about Tom, and Draco finding her, and their conversations and all the rest. Well, most of the rest, anyway—she didn't think they really needed to hear about _everything_ she and Draco had done. Dumbledore's expression didn't change as she related the tale, although Snape shifted restlessly in his corner and seemed skeptical.

When she came to the end, Dumbledore folded his hands in front of him on the desk and nodded solemnly. To Ginny's surprise he didn't speak to her, but to Draco. "Is this account accurate, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco shifted in his chair and nodded without looking up. Dumbledore nodded himself, looking very grave. "Mr. Malfoy, do you care for Miss Weasley?"

Draco glanced up to meet Dumbledore's steely blue stare, and flushed red. Ginny held her breath, not sure what he would answer. Did he care for her? She didn't know. Maybe _he_ didn't know. She bit her lip and tried not to think about how much depended on how he answered.

But Draco didn't answer at all. He dropped his eyes and stared determinedly at the edge of Dumbledore's desk, chewing at his lip.

"Ah, well, perhaps it's an unfair question," Dumbledore said after a moment, his voice surprisingly gentle. He cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair. "I feel it necessary to point out that fraternization between staff and students is frowned upon. I'm sure you both understand why." Dumbledore paused and studied Draco and Ginny in turn. "If such a thing were happening, I would be forced to punish the offenders in question." He paused again and his eyes began to twinkle. "If I knew about it."

Snape made a choked noise, and Draco jerked his head up, plainly shocked. Ginny widened her eyes as understanding dawned. "Yes, sir," she whispered, and Dumbledore beamed.

"Excellent! You may consider yourselves warned, and I'm sure that I won't see either of you in my office again regarding this matter." Dumbledore rose from his desk and motioned them out of their chairs. "Thank you both for coming. I'm terribly sorry to have pulled you away from your classes, Miss Weasley. I'll speak to Professor McGonagall about having you make up the extra  
work."

Ginny nodded and practically bolted to the door, glad to escape down the spiral stair and away from Snape's glowering countenance, with Draco not far behind her. Snape didn't follow; obviously he had something more to say to Dumbledore. Indeed, if Dumbledore's office weren't soundproof from outside the gargoyle Snape might be saying his piece for the whole school to hear.

Draco slumped against the wall in the empty corridor when they got to the bottom, his long legs braced against the stone floor. Ginny leaned against the wall opposite, watching him. She still wasn't sure what to think—he'd never answered Dumbledore's question about caring for her. Part of her desperately wanted to believe that he _did_, but she wasn't sure that she wanted to know if he didn't. But if he wouldn't answer Dumbledore, Ginny didn't think he'd answer her.

Draco scuffed one foot against the stone floor. "I can't believe he didn't punish us."

"I imagine he thinks we're good for each other," Ginny said, and laughed giddily in relief. "Fostering inter-house co-operation."

Draco snorted. "Is that what they're calling it?"

"I suppose it's more tactful than some other things they could say."

Draco looked at her, his face serious. "He's right, though. No one can find out." His mouth twisted, and he laughed shortly. "Well, no one _else_, anyway."

"How _did_ Dumbledore find out?" Ginny asked. "I mean, I know he's supposed to be good at knowing what's happening in the school, but how did he know about us?"

"Snape," Draco muttered. "He saw you leaving my rooms yesterday."

"Oh." Ginny blushed in spite of herself. She wondered what else Snape had seen, if he'd been watching them. "I guess that'd explain why he looked so angry. One more reason to dread Potions, I guess."

Draco half-laughed. "At least I'll be spared having to mark your class's assignments. It would compromise my educational integrity."

"I guess it would." Ginny giggled in spite of herself, giddy with relief. "Was it awful?"

"Awful enough." Draco lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug. "Could have been worse."

Ginny nodded. It definitely could have been. If Snape had caught them together, or if anyone else had...she wasn't so foolish or besotted that she was blind to the consequences of what they were doing. "We'll have to be more careful."

Draco nodded, his face serious, and pushed himself away from the wall. With a glance in each direction he crossed the hall, closing the distance between them in a few long strides, and caught her wrist in one hand—if this were his idea of careful, it was a miracle they'd never been caught before. He pulled her toward him and just looked at her for a moment, his other hand coming up to cup her face, his thumb stroking her cheek. Ginny caught her breath; she might be afraid to ask him outright, but when he looked at her that way, his eyes wide and blue-grey in the faint light, it was hard to believe he didn't care about her. He lowered his head and kissed her gently, as though he were afraid she'd break. Ginny let her eyes drift closed and lost herself in the feel of his hand against her cheek, his lips on hers.

She kept them shut for a second after Draco lifted his head, wanting to hold on to the feeling just a little longer. He was still watching her when she opened her eyes again, his hand moving to tangle in her hair. "Tomorrow?" she asked softly.

"Yes," Draco replied, equally soft. "You should go. You have to get back to class."

Ginny nodded and stepped away from him. It was harder than it should have been, to pull away and smooth her robes, to shoulder her bag, turn around and walk away from him. She could feel him watching her the whole time, until she rounded the corner at the end of the hall and was out of his sight.

~*~

And they were careful, to the point of utter ridiculousness, as far as Draco was concerned. She came to see him two or three times a week at most, and sometimes not even that. Snape had said nothing more on the subject, but he seemed to take their relationship as a personal insult and had begun giving Draco the worst and most unpleasant jobs he could devise. Draco was beginning to feel like a Gryffindor.

"I wonder if he's going out of his way to keep me unfit for company," Draco grumbled one day. He was at the sink in his bath, scrubbing at his hands with a brush, trying to get newt slime out from under his fingernails. It was awful, really; he'd spent the weeks leading up to Christmas elbow deep in toad guts and bubotuber pus, and his hands were drying right out. "I wouldn't be surprised."

"It's not that bad," Ginny called. She'd spread out on her stomach on his bed with books and papers all around, studying for Arithmancy. Her hair was pulled back in a careless bun and she was kicking her feet in the air behind her. "You're hardly falling apart."

"I am! Look at my hands!" Draco came out of the bath to show them to her, waving his reddened fingers under her nose. "See?"

Ginny barely glanced at him as she pushed his hands aside. "You're just scrubbing them too much. There's nothing wrong a little hand lotion wouldn't fix. I'd lend you mine but it smells of lilacs, and you're quite girly enough already."

"I'm not girly!" Draco sputtered.

Ginny looked up and smirked. "You are the girliest boy I know. Who cares if your hands get a little dirty?"

"_I_ care if they get dirty," Draco muttered, climbing onto the bed to lean against the headboard beside her. "It's shocking, is what it is. I've got hands like a house elf and you can't even be bothered to look." He held up his abused hands and examined his fingernails carefully. He'd managed to get all the newt off them, but he was sure his cuticles were drying up. "I'm practically disintegrating before your eyes."

Ginny rested her chin in one hand and smiled at him. "Yes, you are. A shadow of your former self. It's amazing I bother staying 'round, isn't it? With you all dry-skinned and lank-haired and old before your time."

"Now you're just making fun of me."

"Would I do that?" She batted her eyelashes at him.

"You absolutely would." Draco poked her in the leg with his foot. "You might _look_ all innocent and sweet, but I know better."

Ginny laughed again and went back to her homework. "Well, if you didn't wash them every two minutes, they wouldn't get so dry," she said. "What's the numerological significance of a five in the arithmancical formula for a cheering spell?"

"Five expands the mind and creates a sense of freedom and adventure," Draco replied. "It...um. I can't remember the rest." He leaned over to look at her problem, letting his chin rest on the curve of her shoulder. "Oh yeah. In combination with the three and the one, it loosens the inhibitions and causes you to initiate an expression of joy and happiness. Which would be grinning like a loon, like you do when someone hits you with one."

"Hmmm." Ginny wrote furiously, biting her lower lip. Draco didn't move, watching her profile as she worked. She had a delicate spray of freckles on the upper rim of her ear—he hadn't even known it was possible to sunburn one's ears. Didn't she wear hats?

"Have you really sunburnt your ears before?"

"What?" She didn't even glance up.

"You have freckles on your ears," he said, and traced the curve of it with the tip of one finger. "How do you manage to sunburn your ears?"

"Because I burn easily. Spend enough time out of doors, and I'd bet you sunburn yours." Ginny batted at his hand self-consciously. "There's always at least one day I forget to put on a sun-blocking charm."

"Wear a hat."

"I hate hats. They pinch into my temples and give me a headache. Plus I get terrible hat-head. How would substituting a nine for a five in the above equation change the outcome of the spell?" Ginny nibbled on the end of her quill.

"I don't know," Draco replied lazily, trailing a fingertip down the side of her neck. "Do you really have to do that now?"

"Yes, I really do. I leave on hols in three days, and it's due before I go."

Draco's contentment vanished at the mention of Christmas holidays. He'd almost forgotten she was leaving; that the world didn't really disappear when they were together, however much he might like it to. He watched resentfully as she jotted a series of numbers onto her parchment. "Can't it wait?"

"No, it can't."

Draco watched her silently as she frowned down at her parchment. Surely schoolwork wasn't so important that she had to ignore him. But she was going to do exactly that if he didn't distract her. He raised his hand and traced the rim of her ear again, then moved to the soft skin just behind her earlobe. Ginny's eyes drifted shut for a moment, but she didn't stop with her homework. He leaned forward to breathe gently against her throat, "Are you sure?"

"Draco, I have to get this done..."

Her voice trailed off as he nibbled at her earlobe, changing into a soft purr. Draco smiled in satisfaction and slid a bit closer, tilting her head so he could kiss her properly. Ginny let him, and he took the opportunity to push her back onto the bed, heedless of the books around them. She'd been studying for ages, the scent of parchment permeating everything about her. "I'll help you with it later," he murmured against her lips.

Ginny sighed and tilted her head back, and he took the opportunity to nip at the delicate skin underneath her chin. She gasped and wrapped one arm around him. "You're going to get ink all over your bedspread," she protested huskily.

"The house elves can clean it." Draco kissed the smooth curve of her throat and rested his lips in the hollow between her collarbones. She smelled of ink and paper there too, and her shoulders trembled slightly as he followed the graceful bow of one collarbone to where it disappeared under the white fabric of her shirt. Draco shifted back and pushed himself up on his elbows to undo the next button, pushing it aside so he could continue on his path of exploration.

Ginny half-laughed. "You're persistent, anyway."

Draco smirked, knowing he'd won. "Don't forget devious."

"That too." She reached out and dropped her quill over the edge of the bed, then pushed him away so she could gather up her parchment and Arithmancy texts, shoving them off the bed too. "There. Now I won't have to explain to Professor Vector how my homework got so flattened."

"Because it's not going to be flattened by dropping it on the floor."

"Well, I can explain that. Bit harder to explain the other. 'Sorry, Professor, but I had sex on my homework, it's a bit of a mess.'" Ginny giggled, and he grinned back at her. Her laughter was infectious; it lit up her face and made the small lines of worry hovering around her eyes vanish.

And then the laughter faded as Draco settled himself against her legs and unbuttoned the rest of her shirt. Ginny watched, her eyes dark and serious, as he pushed it down off her shoulders and leaned forward to kiss her neck and the silky slope of her shoulder. Her hands came up to clutch at his arms as he slid the straps of her bra down, unfastening it so that he could push it away, exposing the smooth, pale skin of her breasts.

She moaned low in her throat as he lowered his head to kiss her there, and he savoured every arch of her slender body, every small, helpless noise of pleasure that fell from her lips as his mouth traveled over her skin, drunk on the knowledge that _he_ did this to her and no one else. Her breathing had gone ragged by the time he acceded to her half-whispered demands and raised himself up to lie full length against her, to guide her legs apart and slide into her, balanced on the edge of terror and exhilaration.

Ginny's hand tightened on his neck, and she arched again, matching him as he thrust into her. Draco let his head drop, resting his forehead against hers as he moved. He wanted her so much, more than he had ever wanted anyone or anything; that he had her, that she wanted him too, still left him feeling vulnerable and terribly exposed. He let his eyes shut against the intensity of his emotions and lost himself completely in her arms.

Afterward, Ginny lay half-atop his chest, using the tip of one copper curl to paint invisible patterns on his chest. "Do you want to go with me?" she asked quietly.

"Go with you where?"

"Home with me. For Christmas." Ginny widened her eyes earnestly. "I mean, we've got a spare bed, and Mum always makes too much food, and it might not be posh but it's usually pretty fun. There's always lots of people around, and things to do."

Draco lifted one eyebrow in amusement. "And I'll get my exercise, dodging your twelve brothers." Ginny burst into giggles and ducked her head into his chest to muffle them, her laugh vibrating against his ribs. Draco tightened his arms around her, his fingers twining into her hair, delighting in the sensation. "They could try to kill me, I could outrun them—it would be grand."

Ginny raised her head, laughter sparkling in her eyes. "There's only six of them, and anyway, I'd protect you. I'm tougher than I look, and they're not allowed to hurt me on account of my being the only girl. Mum gets angry." The laughter faded as he didn't respond, and her face grew serious. "I mean—if you want to."

"I can't leave the castle," he said. He turned his face away, unable to look at her, unable to bear seeing her face soften into sympathy, those dark eyes warming with pity for him, stuck here all alone at Christmas-time. _He_ didn't have a family anymore—his father and mother would set up the huge Christmas tree in the study without him, would carry on with their parties and social gatherings as though he'd never even existed. Draco didn't even _enjoy_ Christmas, and he hated his parents' parties, but that didn't stop the bitterness that welled up in him at the thought. It was one of the things they'd never talked about, mostly because Draco didn't want to. It was hard enough being at Hogwarts and having all of Slytherin know he was a traitor. He didn't want to have to say it to her, to have her know how much he hated it.

Ginny's hand stilled on his chest, and she lowered her head to rest against his breastbone, sensing, perhaps, that he didn't want to have to face her. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I wish you could. I wish..." Her voice trailed off, but Draco knew. She wished things were different, and so did he.

~*~

The three days before Christmas passed all too swiftly, and on the day they were to leave, Ginny followed Zoë and the other girls down from Gryffindor tower. She was dragging her feet deliberately, and when the girls had gotten far enough ahead Ginny slipped away, checking over her shoulder almost constantly as she made her way down toward the dungeons. One or two Slytherins gave her evil looks as she passed by on her way to Draco's hallway, but no one stopped her. She wouldn't let anyone stop her; she wasn't leaving without saying goodbye.

He was waiting for her just inside his rooms, tall and solemn in his dark work robes, as though he'd known she'd be there. Ginny dropped her bag and stepped into his arms with an unhappy sigh. "I'm going to _miss_ you."

"It's only two weeks," Draco said.

"I know, but that doesn't make me feel better."

"I know."

Ginny sighed and leaned away slightly so she could look up at him. "Come with me?" she asked wistfully.

"I can't. You know I can't."

"I know," she murmured. "But I hate it."

Draco's eyes, silver gray deepened to charcoal, were stark against his pale face. "If we could—"

"I know," Ginny repeated. She reached up and laid one gloved finger on his mouth; he went still, and his eyes darkened further. Knowing that he would be unhappy too, trapped here at Hogwarts and unable to leave, didn't make her feel any easier. "I'll think of you."

"Ginny—" His hands reached up to cup her face, his thumbs stroking her cheekbones. Ginny closed her eyes as he lowered his mouth to hers, savouring the kiss. Two weeks...two weeks without him, without his dark humour and sarcasm, no evenings spent curled up in his bed or in front of the fire in his small room, no letting him look over her homework and listening to his snippy comments. It made her chest ache with missing him already. Draco let her go and stepped back, pulling himself up, his customary arrogance settling around him. He looked so regal, his face a smooth mask as he looked down at her. "You're going to miss the train if you don't hurry."

Ginny nodded tightly and turned away, scooping her bag up. She looked back as she reached the end of the corridor to see him standing motionless at his door, watching her go. She raised one hand in a brief wave, and he lifted his own hand, though his expression never changed. She didn't even know if he would miss her in return.

She reached the Great Hall just in time to catch up with Zoë, who was on her way out to the carriages. "Sorry I'm late," she said breathlessly. "Forgot something in the dorm."

"It's all right," Zoë said. "Adrienne and Shelley went ahead to save us a carriage, and there'll be lots of seats on the train. A lot of people are staying here for the holiday."

Colin came up to them, slinging a casual arm around Zoë's shoulders. "I almost wish I were going," he said. "I'm going to miss having Christmas at home, but with everything..." he shrugged and his mouth twisted in a wry smile. Most of the Muggle students were staying at Hogwarts, mostly to protect their families or themselves. There'd been one or two attacks on the families of Muggle-borns, but no one was sure how the Death Eaters were tracking them. With everything so uncertain, Dumbledore had said that the Muggle students should stay at school, where a direct attack was unlikely.

"We'll miss you," Ginny said, smiling, and Zoë blushed and nodded.

Colin's arm tightened around Zoë's shoulders and he smiled back at Ginny. "I'll miss you two, too. You'll have to send me cards so I won't get lonely."

"We can do that," Ginny agreed. "I'll get all my brothers to send some, and you'll be drowned with them." Colin and Zoë laughed, and Ginny shouldered her bag. "Look, I'm going to go find Adrienne and Shelley and see if the carriages are here. Meet me out front, Zoë?"

Zoë nodded, and Ginny threaded through the crowd of students milling around in the Entrance Hall and out the front doors. She caught up with Adrienne and Shelley, who were standing at the bottom of the steps. Zoë joined them a few moments later, looking flushed and wistfully happy, and they piled into a carriage to be taken to the train.

The train journey to London seldom changed, and after Adrienne and Shelley left to talk to some Ravenclaw boys, Zoë and Ginny had the compartment to themselves.

"Peace at last," Ginny said after the girls had gone. She had managed to push her unhappiness aside, determined to put as good a face on her holiday as she could. "I love them both, but  
they're a bit much, aren't they?"

Zoë nodded. "They can be." She paused, looking at Ginny carefully, brown head cocked to one side. "But now they're gone..." she said, sounding as though she were picking her words carefully. "Ginny, you do know you can tell me anything, right?"

Ginny stared at her friend in surprise. "Of course I do. Why?"

"It's just that—well, I feel a bit like there's something you're not telling me, and I'm a bit worried." Zoë bit her lip earnestly. "And I hope it's not because you think I'm not a good friend or something. I know that with me and Colin, and with NEWTs coming up and studying and everything that it's hard to find time for just us, but I don't want you to think you can't talk to me."

"Oh, Zoë, no! You're one of my best friends!" Ginny reached out to take Zoë's hand.

"I know. It just seems like lately you've been a bit withdrawn, and you always seem to be...gone. Not in the common room, or at the Library, and it's—well, it's a bit worrying." Zoë's fingers tightened on hers. "I just wanted to be sure that it wasn't...well, that it was nothing like your first year or something."

Ginny blanched a bit at the mention of her first year. Truth be told, she hadn't even thought about Tom, not since Draco had come to her last summer. "No, it's nothing like that! Nothing at all. I'm just trying to keep up with schoolwork, and you know how I can't concentrate with people around." She smiled a bit and shrugged, hoping Zoë wouldn't press. "I just go off and find an empty classroom, usually."

"So long as it isn't anything serious," Zoë said, sounding very serious herself. "Because we're both here for you, me and Colin. You can always tell us things."

"I know," Ginny said, and it was so hard not to just tell Zoë everything. She wanted to, wanted to be able to share everything with her friends, to share with them how she felt. She suddenly understood the appeal of sitting about and giggling about boys—it would be such a relief to be able to _tell_ someone about Draco, about how he made her feel.

But she couldn't. Zoë would never understand. She'd said at the start of the year she thought Draco was a prat, and Ginny doubted her opinion had changed. Not to mention, what would she do if Zoë told someone else? There was too much at risk; it would have to stay a secret. Ginny bit back a disappointed sigh and let Zoë draw her into conversation instead, pushing all thought of Draco out of her mind. She'd have to get through this vacation somehow, and worry about the future later.

*

The day after she came home from Hogwarts, Ginny went with Ron and Hermione to Diagon Alley to go Christmas shopping. The place was chock-a-block with people doing their own last minute shopping, so full that it was a struggle to move around without running into a witch or wizard so over-laden with packages that only magic was keeping their parcels from landing in the street. Ginny tagged along behind Ron and Hermione, waiting for the right moment to slip away so she could do some gift-buying of her own.

They ran into Harry when they were barely three stores down; he was skulking along behind a large witch wearing violent pink robes and carrying so many bags and packages that she looked like a huge mountain. He had plastered his hair to his forehead so his scar wasn't visible, and he looked a little hunted in the crowd. They nearly missed him, but he reached out to tug on Hermione's sleeve as they passed.

"Harry!" Hermione cried, and swept him into a hug. "I'm so glad you made it!"

"Of course I made it," Harry said, disentangling himself from Hermione's arms and clapping Ron on the shoulder. "I wouldn't miss meeting up with you—Remus has had us running ragged lately, and Sir—" He caught sight of Ginny and shut his mouth with a snap. "Um. Hi, Ginny."

There was a brief, awkward pause while Harry tried to pretend he hadn't just cut himself off mid-sentence. Ginny sighed to herself and summoned up a small smile. "I was just going to run to Flourish and Blotts, if all of you want to come with me."

"No, go ahead, Gin," Ron said, too quickly. "We'll catch up with you in a bit."

"All right. I'll meet you all at Fortescue's in an hour, then." Ginny turned, moving through the press toward the bookstore. That wasn't her real destination, but it worked well enough as a distraction—they clearly didn't want her around, and she didn't really want to stay and watch the three of them pretend that they didn't wish she'd leave. Across from the bookstore, she stopped to duck into the apothecary, nodding politely to the young man behind the counter. She needed a present for Draco, though she hadn't the foggiest notion what to get him.

There was a display of potions equipment near the back of the shop, and Ginny lingered in front of it, looking at them. Maybe she could get something like this for him—mixing potions was his job, and she knew he was borrowing things from Snape because he didn't have his own. She fingered the measuring cups and glass vials thoughtfully.

"What are you doing in _here_? I thought you were going to the bookstore."

Ginny spun around to face Ron, heart pounding. He must have followed right behind her; why he hadn't stayed with Harry was beyond her. "I'm shopping for presents, Ron, so go away."

"Presents for who?" Ron asked. He was eyeing the display of potions equipment warily, brow wrinkled. "None of us need potions stuff."

"Then it's obviously not for you. So why don't you let me get on with my shopping, and I'll meet you down at Fortescue's in a bit?" Ginny shrugged in a way she hoped was casual and hoped Ron wouldn't push.

It was a bit of a vain hope. "Who are you buying stuff like this for?" Ron demanded. "Is this for your mystery fellow?"

Ginny sighed and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "What makes you think I'd tell you? Maybe...maybe it's for Zoë. Or Colin."

Ron narrowed his eyes and looked her over. "But it's not, is it? It's for your _boyfriend_, whoever he is."

"Ron—"

"So he's good at potions, this fellow is?" Ron looked the display of goods over again. "What, is he some sort of suck-up to Snape?" Ron's expression shifted from irritation to dawning horror. "Ginny...it _isn't_ Snape, is it?"

Ginny groaned, rolling her eyes. "Yes, Ron, you've caught me out. I've been carrying on a mad affair with Snape for years," she said. "You know I've always had a thing for dark-haired men."

Ron gargled something incomprehensible and went pale, reaching out to brace himself on the edge of a nearby shelf. "_Snape_!" he gasped finally. "_Ginny!_"

"I'm _teasing_! Ron, you're such a git!" Ginny turned her back on her brother in disgust. "I can't believe you'd actually believe that."

"Well, what am I supposed to believe? You and your mystery boy, and you won't say who it is, and now you're looking at Potions paraphernalia and expect me not to jump to conclusions!"

"And the first thing you think of is that I'm shagging _Snape_? Ron, he's a _teacher!_" Ginny was aghast. "Not to mention he's...eugh." She couldn't repress her shudder. The shop clerk was leaning on the counter and watching them with rapt fascination. No doubt this was the most interesting thing he'd heard all day. Honestly, the only way this situation could be worse was if—

"Miss Weasley. And Mr. Weasley. What a pleasant surprise," a dark voice murmured from behind her.

Ginny wished fervently that the ground would simply swallow her up and save her from having to face the owner of that particular voice. Ron made a strangled sound and flushed a deep, unpleasant red, and the clerk leaned so far over the counter Ginny was amazed he didn't topple right onto the floor.

"Hello, Professor," she said weakly, and turned around. Snape smiled unpleasantly down at her, his arms tucked into the folds of his cloak. Ron looked like he wanted to die, and Ginny knew just how he felt. "Fancy meeting you here."

"Hmmm." Snape looked like the cat who'd caught the canary—there was no doubt that he'd overheard at least part of their conversation. "May I suggest, Miss Weasley, that if you are shopping for potions equipment, that you consider McDermott's supplies. They have good quality items and are generally quite reasonable in price. If your..._friend_," and Ginny cringed at Snape's emphasis, "is going to be using his equipment as much as I think he will, you might consider choosing something from their line."

"Thank you, Professor," she whispered, and Snape smirked at her. He was enjoying this, the bastard, knowing he could make her squirm and Ron go apoplectic without having to give away a single thing that might endanger Draco.

She hated him.

"Always a _pleasure_ to help a student." Snape said, and swept past in a slither of black robes. Ginny closed her eyes against an incipient headache as the clerk rang up Snape's purchases.

Ron whirled on her as soon as Snape was out of the shop, nearly beside himself. "_Snape_ knows who it is? You would tell that greasy, slimy, horrible bastard before you would tell your own _brother_?!"

"Ron, shut up! You're causing a scene!"

"A _scene_! You think this is a _scene_! You're buying presents for someone and _Snape_ knows who it is, but you won't tell me!" Ron was red in the face, gesturing wildly with his arms. "Who—what—is it a Slytherin or something? Is that why you won't tell me?"

"Ron, please. Just stop," Ginny said. "I can't tell you, all right? Not right now. It'd be...it's too complicated, and if you don't stop bothering me, I won't ever tell." She pushed past him to look at the potions equipment on display, determined to at least buy what she'd come for. It looked like Snape was right—McDermott's did seem to have the nicest things. She settled on a set of measuring cups and spoons, tuning Ron's mutterings out with a practiced ear.

The clerk giggled coyly while he rang up her purchases. "So," he said, his voice low, "who is it?"

Ginny gaped at him. "Excuse me?"

"Your young man. I'm dying of curiosity!" He favoured her with a simpering, close-lipped smile.

"If I wouldn't tell my own brother, why on earth would I tell you?" Ginny asked, incredulous.

"Oh, go on. I wouldn't tell anyone!"

Ginny couldn't recall a time when she'd been more insulted. "I don't care!" She swiped her bag off the counter and glared at the man in fury. "It's none of your business!"

She stormed out of the shop, stiff with indignation, not even bothering to wait for Ron. It was bad enough that Ron was prodding her to tell about Draco; now she was being accosted by shop clerks and _Snape_. She was nearly at Gringotts before she'd calmed down enough to slow her steps and let the anger recede a little bit. A few deep breaths and the walk back up Diagon Alley to Fortescue's helped to restore her equilibrium, and Ginny felt able to face Ron again. And Harry and Hermione—and Mum and Dad and the rest of her brothers, since Ron was sure to have said something by now—and all the questions they were sure to have about her purchases. She thought longingly of Draco's warm, quiet room, where the only thing that might disturb her was him, and went to meet her family.

~*~

It seemed like half of Hogwarts had stayed for Christmas, and Draco spent most of the holiday in his room to avoid the stares of the students. The novelty of his presence here didn't seem to have worn off, and he was watched constantly wherever he went. The Slytherins as a group considered him a traitor and the other Houses were sure he wasn't to be trusted, leaving Draco with no respite from their glances and whispers. He barely minded, though; he and Snape were busy with making up potions for Madam Pomfrey, and Snape was showing him how to prepare some of the more advanced medical brews, as well as all sorts of things he'd never learned in class.

The only thing he did miss was Ginny. Her absence was an ever-present ache, and Draco wasn't sure how he felt about that. He liked spending time with her and he _loved_ her body, but it was disconcerting to realize how difficult it was to be without her. He had never felt that way about anyone; he didn't even miss Mother this much.

Mother, who was no doubt deep in her social whirl, chatting with her friends in the social setting she shone in. Draco didn't even know if she missed him, for Father would never let her contact him here. He didn't exist to his father anymore; he had done something awful enough that Father would never acknowledge him again, and he wouldn't allow Mother to either, whether she wanted to or not.

They were bleak thoughts for such a season, and Draco tried to work enough that he could distract himself from them. It seemed no time at all before Christmas morning arrived, which dawned sunny and bright. Draco was surprised to see a very small pile of presents at the foot of his bed when he woke. He hadn't expected anyone to get him anything, but there was a small present from Dumbledore which, when opened, revealed itself to be a pair of woolen socks, a pair of gloves from Snape, and two other packages he didn't recognize at all.

Draco ignored the note on the first one and ripped open the paper, which held a jumper. It was an incredibly ugly, knobby grey affair made of scratchy wool, with hugely long sleeves, far too big for Draco. Draco stared at it in horror for a moment before he picked up the note.

_D -_

I can picture the look on your face right now, and am having a good laugh about it. I know you think it's horrible, but Mum decided that she would knit a sweater for my 'young man' this year, after she found out I had one, and here you are. We all get them every year—Mum loves to knit. I'll show you mine when I get back, and you can laugh at me too if it'll make you feel better. She asked me what colour, and I told her grey, to match your eyes, so I hope it's all right. Zoë says that her mum always says how silly you look in an outfit is directly related to how warm you are, so you'll probably be quite toasty when you wear it. The other present should be useful, and you don't have to worry about your looks with that one.

I miss you.

G

Ginny, of course. He wasn't sure why he was surprised.

Draco read the note through again, and then held the horrible jumper up, shaking his head. There was no way that he would be caught dead wearing such a thing. He wondered if he could convince Ginny  
that he'd accidentally dropped it in the fire or had it eaten by acid in an unfortunate potions accident. Draco eyed his workbench thoughtfully. Except she'd probably just have her mother make him another, and then he'd have to think of a way to get rid of that one too. Draco sighed and pushed the sweater aside, pulling the other present toward himself. It was heavy, a long rectangular box that must have taken two owls to carry.

Unwrapped, the second gift proved to be a deep box wrapped in dragonhide leather, neat silver clasps holding it shut. Inside, nestled into dark green velvet, was a set of silver measuring cups for potions. A matching set of spoons was set into the lid, and Draco pulled one out, weighing it in his hand with a small smile. Elegant, practical and something he'd never have thought to buy for himself. Draco set the spoon back in its holder and closed the box, running his hand over the leather with a pleased smile.

The smile faded after a moment; Ginny had gotten him two things, and he hadn't gotten her anything. Unable to leave the castle, he couldn't buy her a present himself, and he hadn't wanted to delegate something like that to Snape. Not to mention he had no idea what she might like...she never really seemed to want anything, nor did she express any interest in the things all the other girls of Draco's acquaintance had liked. He would have to think of something, and give it to her when she returned from holidays in a week.

~*~

The talk with Mum and Dad about her mysterious young man went better than Ginny had any right to expect. She had intimated that the boy was a Hufflepuff, since it obviously wasn't someone in Gryffindor, and Percy would surely ask Penelope about anyone in Ravenclaw. Mum and Dad had interpreted her reluctance to talk as shyness, and Mum had only made plans to knit an extra jumper to send to the boy. Which she had done, and Ginny had wrapped and sent it to Hogwarts along with her own present for Draco. She only wished she could be there to see his face when he opened the package.

Draco didn't send her anything in return, but Ginny hadn't really expected him to. He wasn't able to leave the castle, after all, and it would undoubtedly look strange for her to be getting packages from Hogwarts, mystery boy or no. It was nice enough to be home, with all her brothers around and Harry and Hermione dropping in for Mum to exclaim over, and helping with the baking and cooking. There was always a big meal to prepare, it seemed, with the twins dropping in at all hours, and Bill and Charlie both home for the holidays.

Ron was at the Ministry, despite the fuss Mum had made about him working through the holidays, and Percy was with his fiancée Penelope's family, so it was just the twins, Charlie, and Bill at home for dinner. Ginny was surprised Mum hadn't made more of a protest; after all, Ginny would be returning to school in just under a week, and Bill and Charlie would be going back to their jobs soon, and Mum was always big on the family dinners. But Mum hadn't, and after the meal, the twins got pegged for dish-washing duty while everyone else settled down in the drawing room for dessert and tea. Ginny curled up in the rocking chair by the fireplace and stared into the flames, listening to her family with half an ear. Bill was regaling them all with a tale about a cursed pyramid and an attack of mutant mummies when a tall, handsome man with dark hair appeared in the hall with a pop of displaced air.

"You've got to get out of here!" the man said, almost before he'd materialized fully. "There's no time to spare, you've got to leave!"

Everyone froze with astonishment, then all the boys leapt to their feet, talking at once. The man waved them all to silence. "There's been attacks all over tonight, they've gone and hit everywhere they can. Diagon Alley, the Ministry, wizard houses all over the country—we're trying to get to everyone we can before they do. You've got to go!"

Dad goggled at the man. "They've what?"

"I told you, attacks all over, they'll be here next...you've got to get out!"

Another soft pop came from the hall, behind the strange man, and Harry pushed his head in through the door. "We don't have time for questions. Sorry Mr. Weasley, but you've got to get out of here now. You're going to have Death Eaters on your doorstep in minutes!"

Mum gasped, and Dad turned to the man. "They hit the Ministry?"

The man nodded. "Damn near blew the place up. It's even odds as to whether Fudge is even still alive. Christian Keskull is running things in his stead, and he's trying to organize things, but he's only an under-secretary. They'll need a clear head, Arthur, if you want to go up there."

"I will," Dad said, and the man barely waited for the acknowledgement before he disappeared through the kitchen door. Dad shook his head as he pulled his wand. "Molly, you'll look after the boys, and Ginny?"

"Of course," Mum said, and Dad leaned down to kiss her. "We'll be fine. Don't you worry, Arthur."

Dad vanished, and Mum waved her hands distractedly, looking around at the rest of them. "Bill, follow your father, luv. He'll know where you can help. Charlie, you do the same. Ginny - " Mum stopped and bit her lip. "I'll go talk to him about you. I'm sure you can Floo out." Mum vanished into the kitchen, wringing her hands.

"Don't worry 'bout it, Gin," Charlie said gently. "Everything'll be fine." He gave her what was probably meant to be an encouraging grin, and pulled his wand. He vanished with a pop, and Ginny stared at the spot where he'd been a moment before with growing terror.

The dark-haired man appeared in the door, glaring at her with wild eyes. "What are you waiting for? Merlin, girl, Apparate!"

"I can't!" Ginny cried frantically. "I don't know how yet!"

The man swore under his breath and strode to the kitchen. "Harry!" he called, his voice harsh.

Mum appeared instead of Harry, waving her hands frantically. "There you are! Ginny doesn't know how to Apparate!"

The man caught her by the arms. "I know that, thank you. Mrs. Weasley, you have to go. Harry and I will take care of her." He let go of Mum to push an impatient hand through his hair. "Dammit, we don't have time for this. There isn't anywhere that's safe enough for you to Floo, or I'd just send you off that way. And they've closed off the Floo network to Hogwarts." He stopped and rounded on Ginny, ignoring Mum's nervous hand-wringing. "Can you fly?"

Ginny nodded with trepidation.

"Good," the man barked. "Then that's what you'll do. Mrs. Weasley, Apparate _now_ or I will port you out."

Mum opened her mouth, veering from nervousness to she-dragon anger, and the man drew his wand threateningly. Clearly he meant it. Mum closed her mouth with an audible snap and rushed to Ginny. "You be careful!" she said loudly, and kissed Ginny on the cheek. Then she drew her own wand, glared at the dark-haired man, and Apparated away.

Harry raced in from the kitchen as Mum did so, and the man turned to him. "Where's your broom?"

Harry didn't even blink. "It's out back. Floo network down?"

"It's not down, but not safe. She says she can fly, so she'll have to go that way. Everyone else out?"

"Yes, I sent the twins on to Remus, they're fine." Harry turned to Ginny. "Come on," he said urgently. "We've got to get moving, they'll be here any minute."

"Wait!" Ginny ignored the sharp, irritated exclamation from the strange man as she darted up the stairs to her room. She grabbed her book bag and Shadow cloak and raced back down the stairs.

The man looked at her cloak as she re-entered the kitchen and nodded, some of the irritation leaving his face. "Good thinking," he said, and motioned her out into the garden.

Harry was waiting there with his broom, a new model Firebolt 3000. "Oh, good, I forgot you had a Shadow cloak," he said as he spotted her. "It should hold, as long as you stay out of sight as much as you can. You'll have to go all the way to Hogwarts, there's nowhere else that's safe, not for flying in. Think you'll be ok?" he asked.

Ginny nodded, clutching at her bag nervously. "Will you all be all right?" she asked. "I mean, Mum—"

"They'll be fine," Harry said. He smiled reassuringly and patted the broom's handle. "And you'll be fine too. Fly high, and try to keep to trees, or unpopulated areas. Tell Dumbledore what's happened when you get there."

"I will. Harry—" She grabbed at his arm, pulling him toward her. "Be careful."

"I will." Harry hugged her tight, and kissed her on the cheek. "You be careful too. Owl Remus Lupin at the Ministry to let us know you got there safely. He'll get the message to me."

Ginny nodded and climbed onto the broom, settling her bag onto her back and arranging her cloak around her. Harry reached out to twitch a fold into place and smiled again. Ginny tried to return it, but her face felt too stiff. She'd never flown much further than a two hour flight could take her; she didn't know how she was going to make it all the way to school. But there was no other way.

*

It was a long, cold, frightening journey, and Ginny didn't dare stop. The strange man who'd come to tell them to leave the Burrow had said there were attacks all over, and she didn't want to risk it. She could only push on, and hope that all her family had made it to safety.

She was staggering with weariness by the time she dismounted in the early morning, outside the Hogwarts gates. The gates themselves were closed, for the first time Ginny could remember, and two Aurors were guarding them. "Good lord," one said as he spotted her, and they both whipped their wands out, leveling them at her through the gates. "Who're you?" he demanded.

"I'm Ginny Weasley," she said. "Please, I go to school here. My house was attacked last night, and they sent me here. I need to talk to Dumbledore."

The Auror narrowed his eyes. "Who sent you here?"

"Harry. Harry Potter, he's friends with my brother, he's an Auror. Please!" Ginny could feel tears pricking behind her eyes as the two Aurors exchanged looks. She hadn't come all this way by broom just to be turned away from Hogwarts.

The first man lowered his wand cautiously. "We'll send up for Dumbledore," he said. "You just stay right there."

Ginny nearly wailed, squeezing her eyes shut against her tears. She leaned against Harry's broomstick while they waited for Dumbledore to arrive. He did minutes later; his steps quickened when he caught sight of her standing on the other side of the gates. "Let her through," he called, motioning to the Aurors.

Both men hesitated, and Dumbledore stopped beside them and looked at them over the tops of his spectacles. "My dear gentlemen, if Voldemort and his supporters have sunk to impersonating schoolgirls to gain access to Hogwarts, then we are worse off in this battle than I care to contemplate. This is Ginny Weasley, and I have received an owl from the Ministry that she would be arriving. You may open the gates and let her through."

"Yes, sir," the first Auror said, and unlocked the gate, pushing it open just far enough so that Ginny could squeeze through. She did, and Dumbledore motioned for her to follow him, guiding her up to the castle and into his office, where she sank gratefully into a chair, relieved to be able to sit on something that wasn't moving.

"I'm pleased to see you here," Dumbledore said finally. "We were contacted by Remus Lupin earlier, and were quite worried that you hadn't arrived yet. No, child, I'm not scolding you—it's a long way from Devon on broomstick. But we have been awaiting you."

"Harry said to tell you that we'd been attacked," Ginny said. "But if you've talked to Mr. Lupin, I suppose you know."

"I do, and it was not just your house. The Ministry as well, though you'll be pleased to hear that all of your brothers are safe and accounted for." Dumbledore smiled at her, his eyes kind. "I understand that Ron made quite a name for himself at the Ministry last night, protecting people from the Death Eaters."

Ginny cheered a bit at that; Ron must be so proud. "Are my parents all right? And the Burrow?"

Dumbledore's cheerfulness faded a bit. "Your parents are well, but I'm afraid there was some harm to the house. The Aurors saved what they could, but they couldn't prevent some damages."

"Oh." In a way, that was hardest of all. The Burrow, damaged. Her cozy room, with all her posters and books, their low-ceilinged kitchen that had always been a safe haven for her and her brothers when they were children, the huge stone fireplace that warmed the whole house. "But it's not...not too bad?"

"Nothing that cannot be mended, Miss Weasley," Dumbledore said gently. He might have spoken further, but the door to his anteroom was flung open. Ginny spun around in her chair, to see Draco standing in the doorway, his shoulders set in tense lines.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy. I thought we'd be seeing you." Dumbledore smiled at Draco, who nodded but didn't return his greeting. "I think we're done here. I'll let Miss Weasley go with you, then. I trust you'll take care of her."

"Yes, sir," Draco said sharply, and held his hand out to Ginny. She stood and took it with a brief, shy look at Dumbledore, who smiled at her, a twinkle in his bright blue eyes.

Ginny followed Draco silently out to the stairs and down to the main hallway. It was deserted; not surprising, since it was far too early for anyone to be up and about. Draco had her hand in a vice-like grip, just short of pain, and he all but pulled Ginny along as he strode down toward the dungeons. He didn't look at her or speak until they got to his door, where he snapped out the password and pushed her roughly inside. Ginny nearly fell before she caught her balance. She whirled on him angrily. "What is _wrong_ with you?"

Draco slammed the door. "What do you _think_ is wrong?" he asked, his voice icy. "Do you have _any_ idea how much danger you were in?"

"I should think so, since I was the one who was out there!" She shoved a hand through her tangled hair; she hadn't even had time to sort herself out. "And anyway, it hardly matters."

"It hard—" Draco snapped his mouth shut and glared at her. "It certainly _does_ matter! You just spent half the night doing something insanely foolish, and you think it doesn't _matter_?"

"Draco, nothing happened!" she said in astonishment. He was clearly furious, clenching and unclenching his fists as he paced in a small circle in front of her. "I'm fine, and it isn't as if I've never flown on a broom before. What are you so brassed off about?"

"Because it was a bloody foolish thing to do!" he shouted. "Merlin, Ginny, you could have been killed!"

"Well I wasn't!"

"_You could have been!_" Draco took three long steps toward her and grabbed her by the shoulders, his fingers digging into her arms. He gave her a hard shake. "You could have been spotted by a Muggle, or hit, or attacked by Death Eaters or any number of things that would have ended up with you dead somewhere and _no one_ would have known!"

"Well I didn't have much of a choice! The Floo network wasn't safe, and I don't know how to Apparate, and there wasn't any other way!" Ginny pushed at his chest ineffectually. "If there were I would have used it. But there wasn't! So I don't see why you're being such a _prat_."

Draco snarled—actually _snarled_ at her—and then pulled her toward him, one hand rising to sink into her hair, and claimed her lips in a harsh, bruising kiss. Ginny made a frightened noise, unprepared for the anger she could feel behind it. Draco's hands on her gentled slightly, but he didn't let her go; instead, he pushed her back until she felt the hard edge of his desk against her hips.

Ginny slid her hands up his chest to cling to his shoulders, though whether to push him away or to pull him closer even she wasn't sure. A small, dark part of her was responding wildly to Draco's aggressiveness, was not only welcoming it but pushing back. She moaned when Draco lifted her up and set her on the edge of the desk, pushing her robes out of his way and shifting her thighs apart so that he could settle between them. She grabbed at his robes to pull him closer still, suddenly desperate to have him near her, _in_ her.

He made short work of her clothes and his own, and then he was _there_, exactly where she wanted him. Ginny sighed into his mouth as he moved, unable to do more than cling to him and ride through the flash-flood of emotions racing through her.

Draco collapsed against her, breathing heavily into her neck. Ginny hugged him tighter, as though she could reassure him that she was all right through sheer force of will. "I'm sorry," she whispered against his hair. "Draco, I'm sorry."

Draco raised one hand and buried it in the hair at the back of her neck, cradling her skull. "You _should_ be sorry," he murmured, but the anger had gone out of his voice. He raised his head to look at her, and Ginny was shocked to see that his eyes were wet, glittering in the candlelight. "You could have _died_."

Ginny's breath caught in her throat. "I'm sorry," she whispered again, barely audible.

Draco closed his eyes and tilted his head toward her, some of the desperate tension leaving him as Ginny smoothed her hands down the long line of his back. "Stay here with me," he whispered. Ginny opened her mouth to protest, to say that she couldn't, but he covered her lips with his fingers, and then with his mouth. "Stay," he murmured again, and all she could do was nod.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The numerological significances of the numbers were garnered from [this site](http://www.astrology-numerology.com/num-keywords.html). The Arithmancy questions I made up myself, as well as Draco's ad-hoc explanation.


	7. Chapter 7

~*~

Ginny stayed the night, though she had to go back to Gryffindor Tower far too soon for Draco's liking. He sat on the edge of the bed and watched as she gathered up her things and pulled her clothes back on. He was having difficulty watching her go about preparing to leave; he wanted her to stay with him today too, stay where he could keep an eye on her and know that she wasn't off doing something crazy that might lead to her getting killed, as she had last night. Draco suppressed a shudder at the thought—she might well have died last night, and he still wasn't convinced that letting her out of his sight was the best course of action.

"The teachers know I'm back," she said as she dressed, buttoning up her shirt with swift fingers, almost as if she could read the path of his thoughts. "If McGonagall finds out I didn't spend the night in Gryffindor she'll go straight to Dumbledore. If she hasn't realized it already."

"I know," Draco muttered. He didn't like it, but intellectually he knew she was right; the sun was already high, streaming light into his normally dim room from the windows along the upper wall, and the students would be up and at breakfast by now.

"I'll come back tonight if I can get away. Colin's still here, so he may want to talk to me, but I'll be here when I'm able." Ginny came back to the bed and sat beside him, wrapping her arms around his chest. "I wish I could stay, but..."

"I know." He turned his head to kiss her forehead, and then her lips when she raised her face to his. "And if you can't come tonight, then whenever you're able." It killed him to make the concession, but it had to be done. Let it never be said that he didn't know what was best for both of them.

Ginny returned the kiss with surprising fierceness. "I will," she whispered, then let him go with obvious reluctance to gather her bag and cloak.

But she wasn't able to come that night, or any night that week. With the new round of attacks—which were far bolder than anyone had expected from the Death Eaters, given the way they had been avoiding large confrontations until now—Hogwarts was in a state of emergency. Students weren't allowed out of their common rooms without an escort, and Hogsmeade trips were cancelled. With the staff being extra vigilant, even a Shadow cloak and Ginny's natural ability to avoid being caught weren't enough.

Draco brooded and tried not to stare at her at meals; his attempts only earned him dark looks from Snape, who no doubt guessed the cause of his bad mood. After nearly a week of enduring Draco moping around the potions workroom and dropping ingredient bottles, Snape's notoriously short temper reached a breaking point.

"Mr. Malfoy," he snapped, glaring at the shattered glass of yet another hapless bottle and the spreading puddle of mercury on the floor. "While I appreciate that you are distracted, it would be nice if you at least _attempted_ to pay attention while you are working on things under my supervision. If you cannot keep your attention on your work perhaps you might find helping Mr. Filch more to your taste."

"Sorry, sir," Draco muttered. He mopped up the spill with a wave of his wand and tried to focus on the cauldron of swelling antidote he was stirring, cheeks burning. "I'm just—"

"I daresay I know what you're 'just'. Preoccupied with thoughts of your little paramour," Snape sneered.

Draco stiffened in spite of himself. "She's not my 'paramour'. And anyway, that's not why. Just because you disapprove—"

"I didn't say I disapprove," Snape replied, and Draco barely suppressed a snort of disbelief. "Nor does it matter if I do, since you have managed to finagle Dumbledore into approving of your little indiscretion. I do think that such a thing at this point in time is a foolish idea. And I know that you, of all my former students, are no fool." Snape glared at Draco for a moment, then shrugged. "Though you have been showing a good deal of caution, which speaks well of you. You're not obvious in your mooning over her." A pause, and an eloquent sniff. "Not in public, at any rate."

"I'm not _stupid_," Draco said crossly. Of _course_ he wasn't obvious about her in public. Snape of all people should know what would happen to him without Hogwarts protection.

"For which we must all be grateful," Snape said, sweeping a pile of neatly sliced goldenrod root into a jar. "Now stir that cauldron before it congeals. We'll bottle it in a few minutes, and then you can go. I'll need you tomorrow night as well. There's marking to be done, and I'll be...away."

"Yes, sir." Draco knew what the significant pause meant; Snape was going to a Death Eater meeting, and would probably need Draco's assistance when he returned. Meeting with You-Know-Who was a trying experience, as Draco well knew, and Snape was usually exhausted when he returned.

Draco wasn't exactly kept abreast of Snape's activities; he knew Snape was a Death Eater, and suspected that he was acting as a double agent of sorts for Dumbledore, but Snape never talked about it. Draco was just as happy to have it that way, because he was fairly sure  
that most of what Snape did was the sort of things he didn't want to know about.

The next evening Draco saw Snape off and then settled himself into Snape's extra chair, a pile of essays on his lap and a quill and a pot of tea on the table beside him. An entire evening of bad spelling and poorly expressed Potions concepts awaited him—Draco wondered if maybe He Who Must Not Be Named was the lesser evil.

At nine o'clock, the time when Snape normally flooed back into his apartments in the Slytherin dungeon, the fireplace remained dark and empty. Draco watched it, half his attention on the clock, the other half on the hearth and none of it on the third-year Hufflepuff assignments he was supposed to be grading. By ten, Draco gave up all pretense of working and instead paced around on Snape's threadbare rug, and by quarter to eleven he was standing in front of Dumbledore, shifting his weight from foot to foot while the old man peered into a scrying bowl and looked grave.

"I cannot find him," Dumbledore said, after an agony of waiting. "He may have been taken, he may be dead, I cannot tell."

Draco swallowed hard. "Then what do we do?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "We must assume he has been made to talk, and plan accordingly. I worried, when the attacks came at Christmas and he wasn't informed of them, but I had hoped...well. I don't think I need to tell you, Mr. Malfoy, that this makes our situation more precarious."

Draco nodded. He did know; if Snape was a spy, then everything he knew about Hogwarts and the Ministry was now at the disposal of He Who Must Not Be Named. And since Snape knew a great deal about what was going on...

"But that isn't something you need to worry about," Dumbledore continued. "And despite the loss of our Potions master, some aspects of life must go on. The students must be taught, and it is unlikely that we could find a Potions master on the Continent who would be willing to brave Hogwarts now." Dumbledore paused and looked at Draco over the tops of his glasses. "Professor Snape always spoke highly of your abilities as a student, Mr. Malfoy. Would you be willing to take on his classes? At least until we can find a replacement."

Draco didn't know what to say. "I—I suppose I could. I've never taught before, though."

"That isn't important. Professor Snape is typically well organized, and if I'm not mistaken he will have prepared lesson plans for well into the next few months. Since you have a good grasp of potions, it should simply be a matter of following his instructions." Dumbledore sounded very calm when he said it, though that did nothing to quell the dread that was curling in Draco's stomach. "And of course, if you have any trouble, you may always come to me for assistance," Dumbledore went on with a kind smile. "Or any of the other teachers. This is a large task, but I know you will be up to the challenge."

And Draco couldn't do anything in the face of that faith but nod. He would do his best, if only because Dumbledore was so sure that he could. He wondered if this was why Snape had turned to the old man after the last war. "Thank you, sir. I'll try."

"I'm sure you'll do well," Dumbledore said kindly. Then his expression changed, becoming more serious. "This does change...other things, as well. As a teacher, you will bear certain responsibilities that you did not have as an assistant, and I expect you to take that into account during your tenure as Potions master. Your position here is precarious and there are people, both in the Ministry and on staff, who will not take kindly to seeing Lucius Malfoy's son acting in any sort of official capacity at Hogwarts. You must be cautious, and your behaviour must be above reproach."

Draco swallowed hard. "Yes sir," he said, his voice almost a whisper. There was no point in pretending he didn't know what Dumbledore was talking about.

Dumbledore held his gaze for a long moment, and Draco fought not to quail under that searching gaze. "Very well. And rest assured that if I did not feel you could do this, I wouldn't ask it of you."

"Yes, sir."

Dumbledore smiled kindly. "I'll let you go, then. The password to Professor Snape's office is _Antipodean Opaleye_ and if I'm not mistaken he keeps his lesson plans in the cupboard behind his desk."

"Thank you, sir," Draco said, and stood up, escaping Dumbledore's office with a  
mixture of relief and dread. He was going to be a _teacher_.

Merlin help him.

~*~

Ginny slept restlessly, troubled by bad dreams for the first time since the summer, and woke the next morning in a bleary, aching haze. It was barely 8 a.m. and she could already feel the dull throb of a headache behind her eyes as she stumbled down the stairs for breakfast.

Zoë frowned as she dropped onto the bench at the Gryffindor table, looking into her face worriedly. "Are you all right?"

"I don't know," Ginny said. "I'm not ill, I'm just tired. Didn't sleep well at all."

"You look it. Maybe you should go see Madam Pomfrey."

Ginny shook her head. "I'll be all right. I might have a nap at lunch, though." She yawned hugely and crossed her arms on the table, resting her forehead on her wrists. "Or right now. Wake me when breakfast's over?"

"You'll need the nap," Zoë said. "We've got Potions first thing."

"Don't remind me." Ginny raised her head and propped her forehead on one hand. She waited while Zoë finished her meal, and then they fell in beside Colin on their way down to the dungeons. Sanjeet joined them, and the boys spent the trip deep in an animated conversation about Quidditch, only breaking it off when they arrived at the Potions classroom, Colin leading the way.

He stopped dead in the doorway, nearly causing Ginny, Zoë and Sanjeet to pile into the back of him. "Where's Snape?" he said loudly, astonishment and hostility in his voice. Ginny looked around Colin's shoulder and stared. Draco was sitting at Snape's desk, a quill in one hand and a sheaf of papers in front of him.

"Mr. Creevey," Draco said coolly. "If you would be so kind as to _enter_ the classroom and not loiter about the door?"

San shoved Colin's shoulder, and he moved slowly into the room, staring at Draco like he was a new sort of snake. Ginny glanced nervously between them, but Draco wasn't looking at her at all. What _had_ happened to Snape? Draco didn't come to the seventh year classes because the older students couldn't be trusted not to cause trouble for him. If Draco was here, then something must really be wrong.

Once the rest of the class had arrived, the Ravenclaws they shared Potions with just as obviously surprised, Draco rose and faced them. He seemed very collected, but Ginny could read the signs of his nervousness in the faint trembling in his fingers and the way he held himself. "Professor Snape is indisposed," he said to the class. "I will be taking over his teaching duties for the time being." He ignored the murmurs rising from the students and turned back to the desk. "I believe you were working on Animation Draughts, so we'll carry on from there."

And they did, going on with the lessons Professor Snape must have set. The class was only notable for how Draco utterly ignored the bench where Colin, Zoë, Sanjeet and Ginny herself sat, no matter how much whispering Colin did. Ginny was paired with San at their long table,  
and it was a good thing that San was as unflappably calm about Potions as he was about everything else, because Ginny was far too distracted to pay any attention. It was hard enough to concentrate around her throbbing head, never mind with Draco _right there_ and she unable to even look at him for fear of drawing suspicion.

The class finally ended, and Ginny dared a last glance at Draco as she followed her fellow Gryffindors out the door. He met her eyes and gave her an odd half-smile; he looked practically sick with nervousness, though she didn't think anyone would be able to tell except her. She risked a tiny smile back. She'd have to risk sneaking out of Gryffindor tonight to see what had happened: find out if Snape were missing or dead, if Draco were going to be teaching full time and how busy he would be now, comfort him if he were upset.

She followed Zoë and Colin up to DADA in a distracted haze, made worse by the fact that her eyes were grainy with exhaustion and her headache seemed unwilling to let up; thankfully DADA was something Ginny knew well enough to coast through. Unlike Transfiguration, where she lost 5 points from Gryffindor for failing to transform her desk into a racing broom. The end of the school day couldn't come soon enough.

"All I want to do is just go right back to bed and pretend this day never happened," she complained to Zoë, after Transfiguration finally let out and they could escape Professor McGonagall's gimlet eye. "Wake up tomorrow and start again."

Zoë clucked sympathetically. "You must be just exhausted. Why'd you have such trouble sleeping?"

"I don't know. Just..." Ginny shrugged helplessly. "Bad dreams. I kept trying to sleep, and waking right back up."

"I thought you'd stopped having them. You didn't seem to have as much trouble with them before Christmas," Zoë said. "Unless it was the attack on your house...that'd be enough to give anyone nightmares."

"Maybe. Mum says the house will be all right, and no one got hurt, but yeah. The thought of Death Eaters in my bedroom..." Ginny shuddered melodramatically. "It's creepy."

Zoë nodded and slipped an arm through hers. "Well, if you have trouble again tonight, maybe you should see Madam Pomfrey. See if there isn't something she can give you to help. We've got NEWTs in just a few months and you'll want to be well rested for them."

"I know." And it was a good idea; Ginny wasn't going to be able to get through the rest of the year like this, so exhausted that she could barely concentrate on her afternoon classes. It was a relief to escape to the Tower and nap briefly before dinner.

She went down with Zoë and Colin and settled onto the bench beside them, slumping forward with her elbows on the table. "Wake me when it's ready?" she said, and heard Colin chuckle  
softly.

"Don't worry, I think you'll know. Oh, look, Malfoy's not here," he said suddenly. "Wonder if we scared him off."

Ginny raised her head at that, scanning the Head Table. Draco's blond head was nowhere in sight. She frowned as she glanced over the room; why wouldn't he come to dinner? She caught Zoë looking at her oddly and dragged her attention back to her friends. Colin was chuckling and Adrienne was giggling at whatever he'd just said.

"I think it's strange that they'd let him teach at all," Shelley said. "It's not like he's a real teacher, and he's certainly not a Potions master like Snape was."

"But where would they find someone willing to come here to teach?" Zoë asked. "It's not like Britain is the safest place to be."

"That doesn't mean they have to let some Death Eater's son do it," Adrienne said with a sniff. "You'd think Dumbledore would have more sense."

"Snape _was_ a Death Eater, not just the son of one," Ginny said abruptly, and blushed as everyone turned to stare at her. "Well, he was."

"How do you know?" Colin demanded. "There's no way Dumbledore would let him teach if he was!"

"I know because Ron told me, and he heard it from Harry." Which wasn't strictly true—Draco had told her—but Harry was her trump card. If Harry said it, everyone believed it. "He left during the last war with You-Know-Who, and Dumbledore's been protecting him."

Colin sat back thoughtfully. "I had no idea. Then I wonder if that's what Malfoy meant when he said Snape was 'indisposed'. Off cavorting with Death Eaters or something."

"I don't know," Ginny said. "Maybe." And she'd find out, just as soon as she could get away to the dungeons and find out from Draco what was really going on.

~*~

Draco skipped dinner, unable to deal with facing all the students in a group after having to stand in front of them all day. He didn't know how _anyone_ managed to do this, day after day. It was nerve-wracking, all those blank, insipid faces expecting him to _say_ things and _do_ things and _know_ things. And doing nothing but talk endlessly, and constantly repeat himself, and answer stupid questions over and over and over...and tomorrow would be the sixth and seventh year Slytherins, which was a disaster in the making if ever there was one. Draco moaned and pulled his pillow over his head. Maybe it would go away if he just ignored it all.

He heard the door open some time later, but couldn't muster up the energy to pull his head out from under the pillow to see who it was. A moment later it became obvious as the mattress sank under a slight weight and a small hand rested on his back. "Draco?" Ginny said softly.

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," he said, then cursed inwardly as the hand disappeared.

"You can always go back home if you like," Ginny said, her voice sharp. "No one's making you stay."

Draco sighed as he shoved the pillow away and turned over. "Don't be snippy. You've no idea the kind of day I've had."

"I could guess. What happened, anyway?" She had looked tired in class this morning and she still did, dark circles under her eyes and a pinched look around her mouth.

"Snape's gone," Draco said. "He went to a meeting last night and didn't come back. Dumbledore thinks he might be dead."

"Oh. Was it...?"

"You-Know-Who. Of course. But Dumbledore can't confirm anything so we don't know for sure. He asked me to teach Potions because they wouldn't be able to find a real Potions master to take his position." He flopped back down on his pillows. "And it's _hell._ I don't know why anyone in their right mind would _ever_ become a teacher."

"Did they give you Slytherin House, too?" Ginny asked. She had relaxed a little, but she hadn't moved to touch him again.

Draco ignored the pang that went through him. Usually she would have. "No, thank Merlin. Dumbledore's going to do it, I suppose. The Slytherins wouldn't listen to me anyway." He rolled on his side, reaching out to take her hand in his. "What's wrong with you?"

"I didn't sleep well last night." Ginny sighed and closed her eyes. "And I've had a headache since I woke up. You're not the only one who's having a rotten day."

Draco tugged on her hand until she gave in and let him pull her down beside him. "Why didn't you sleep well?"

Ginny shrugged, her shoulders still tense. "Bad dreams."

"Really? I didn't know you had nightmares."

"I have since...since Tom." Ginny turned her face away, her eyes dropping closed. "Though not since the start of the year. Usually they're more frequent."

Draco watched her expressionless face, trying to guess her mood. She had always been reluctant to talk about Tom Riddle, and she had never told him the whole story of what had happened to her in the Chamber. "What are they about?"

She shrugged reluctantly. "Just...about the Chamber, and what happened. About...doing things. Him making me do things. I don't remember, really, what he made me do, but I still...it's like, it happens, in the dreams, and I can remember there..." Ginny turned her face away, shivering. "I don't want to talk about it."

There wasn't much he could do in the face of that, and he didn't have the heart to complain to her about the petty irritations of his day, not when she was so withdrawn. Draco sighed and rubbed her arm as she relaxed bit by bit, until finally her breathing evened out and it was clear that she was asleep. Draco eased himself away from her and climbed off the bed, gathering a blanket from the chest at the foot of his bed to cover her with. Even asleep, she looked exhausted, as though sleep wasn't the respite it should be.

Draco pulled his desk chair over to the bed and sat on it backwards, resting his arms on the back to watch her as she slept. He rarely got the chance when she was awake, because she said it made her uncomfortable if he stared at her for too long. But he couldn't help it; Ginny was like no girl he'd ever met, open, funny, never hiding anything she didn't have to, yet so full of secrets that he thought he'd never learn them all. Her very openness helped her to hide things; she seemed so transparent that few people thought to look further.

Every time he looked at her, he noticed something new—that she had freckles on her eyelids and on her fingers, that her hair was a marvelous mix of red shades, from pale strawberry blonde to the rich, deep copper of a newly minted Knut, that her eyelashes started dark reddish brown at the roots and faded to a delicate gold at the tips, that her mouth was a perfectly even bow, just made for kissing. He couldn't believe he had ever thought her plain. She didn't have the sort of made-up, put-together prettiness that someone like Pansy Parkinson had; she didn't need to augment her looks with potions or powders. She just _was._

Draco sighed after a few minutes of indulging himself and stood up, moving quietly about to prepare for the next day's lessons. He had taken all the notes he could find from Snape's office, blessing the man's obsessive neatness; there were lesson plans for all of his classes, straight through into June, so Draco wouldn't have to come up with them himself. He settled into one of his wing chairs with Snape's notes and began reading, making his own notes and planning out tomorrow's lessons.

Ginny stirred restlessly, murmuring in her sleep, and Draco moved back over to the bed to straighten the blanket over her, pausing to curl her hair around his fingers. This was something else they'd have to talk about. Dumbledore's warning had been clear last night. If she were found here, there would be nothing the Headmaster could do. It wouldn't matter that he was only a year older, that they had both been students last year, or that leaving Hogwarts would mean a swift and unpleasant death for him. Dumbledore would be forced to ask for Draco's resignation, and Draco would be forced to give it.

He was reluctant to wake her, but he'd have to. She would have to go back to Gryffindor Tower soon, and they needed to talk before that happened. "Ginny," he whispered, half-hoping she wouldn't wake up. "Ginny?"

 

She stirred, pushing her hair away from her face, her eyes opening a crack. "What?"

"It's late, and we need to talk before you go," Draco said.

Ginny rolled onto her side to look up at him, blinking slightly as she adjusted to the light. "Talk about what?"

"You know what."

Ginny nodded, though she didn't seem happy. "About us."

"Yeah." Draco shifted back, lifting her hand so he could twine his fingers in hers, running his thumb across her knuckles. "Dumbledore said we have to be even more careful. That since I'm a teacher, it's even more important that we..."

"Don't get caught," Ginny finished grimly. She sat up, curling her legs under her as she did so. "Did he say outright we couldn't meet?"

"Not exactly. He just said that people wouldn't like me being potions teacher and that my behaviour had to be 'above reproach'. Meaning if we get caught I'll get sacked." Draco slumped slightly at the prospect; however much he disliked teaching, he didn't really want to get fired so soon after being given the job, even without the threat of death hanging over his head if he left.

"So we have to be extra careful," Ginny said. Draco raised his eyebrows at her, and she frowned defensively. "What, did you expect me to come over all frightened? I haven't been caught yet, have I?"

"No, but—" He was going to say that it was more important now, but Ginny undoubtedly knew that as well as he did. And he certainly didn't _want_ to convince her she couldn't come see him, after all.

"I'll just be more cautious than before. We'll be all right." Ginny shifted forward and slid her arms around him, resting her cheek against his shoulder. "I don't want to stop, any more than you do."

"I know." Draco buried his face in the curve of her neck, pulling her closer. He tried not to think of how _unfair_ it all was; all he really wanted was _her_, and it seemed like everything that happened was designed to make having her impossible.

Ginny pulled away after a few moments, shifting back again so that she could look at him. "You'll be all right, though, won't you? With classes and everything?"

"Yeah. Snape left notes, and Dumbledore said he'd help me if I needed," Draco said with a shrug. "And I know it all, so it's not too hard."

"Well, I thought you did pretty well," Ginny said encouragingly. "You're not as nasty as Snape is, anyway, and that's something."

"I can work on that," Draco said, and she laughed. He grinned in return, happy to see her bad mood lift a little.

But the smile faded soon enough, as Ginny glanced down at her watch. "I should go," she said reluctantly. "It's late, and I have to get back to Gryffindor."

"Yeah. And I've got marking to do, and lesson plans..." he trailed off and closed his eyes. "Might be just as well that we can't see much of each other. I'm not going to have time, at this rate."

He felt Ginny slide her hand along his cheek, and he opened his eyes to find her head very close to his own. "I hope you're not trying to get rid of me," she said, smiling faintly, and leaned forward to kiss him.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he murmured against her lips, meaning every word. She was the only good thing he had left.

"All right, I'm going," Ginny said, and kissed him again swiftly, slipping out of his arms to gather up her bag. "I'll see you on Wednesday for Potions, if I can't get away before. Good luck with the Slytherins."

"Thanks," Draco said weakly, and shut the door behind her as she left. He rested his head against the cool wood of his door for a long moment before he returned to his wing chair and his lesson plans.

~*~

Ginny had hoped she'd be able to sleep better that night, but just before dawn she jolted out of her slumber, breathing hard, flexing her fingers to rid them of the feel of rough parchment, the soft slide of feathers. She scrabbled for her wand and conjured a small light, floating it up near the tops of her curtains so that it illuminated the small cave of her enclosed bed. She'd never be able to get back to sleep, not with Tom waiting for her on the other side of sleep.

She couldn't figure out why the nightmares had chosen to start up again _now_. She'd had almost a full half-year of freedom from them, and nothing had changed to bring them back, as far as Ginny could tell. She still had Draco, she was still doing the same in all her classes, she hadn't fought with any of her friends. It didn't make any sense.

Maybe she should write to Harry and ask him if anything were happening with his scar; perhaps her nightmares were connected to something the Dark Lord was up to. She'd never noticed such a connection before, but she'd never bothered trying to draw one either. Though it was far more likely that the dreams were just a reflection of her own growing unease. He Who Must Not Be Named had snatched away one of her teachers, after all, invaded the sanctity of Hogwarts again and shaken things up, just like he had in her first year.

Ginny turned over and lay on her stomach, reaching through her curtains to pull her DADA textbook onto her pillow. If she couldn't sleep, at least she could study, and she'd been neglecting her Defense dreadfully this year. Professor Delacour hadn't said anything, but Ginny knew she wasn't pleased. At least being separated from Draco would give her more time to devote to schoolwork.

And schoolwork she had in spades. The sheer amount of homework they were being given now that Christmas was over was incredible. Like the fifth-year students, the seventh-years were feeling the pressure of approaching exams. Even if Ginny had wanted to sneak out to visit Draco, between her inability to sleep without nightmares and the sheer volume of assignments she was being given every day, she simply didn't have time. Draco looked just as harried when Ginny saw him in class or in the halls when he emerged from the dungeons, and she knew he had as much work or more than she did. She sincerely hoped Dumbledore appreciated their discretion.

All her evenings were spent in the common room now, studying with Zoë and Colin, working on papers and practicing their spells. Ginny had slumped across half the table, her head resting on her left bicep as she wrote about essence of mugwort for her latest Potions essay. Perversely, enforced separation from Draco meant she rather enjoyed doing her Potions homework; it made her feel a little closer to him. Zoë and Colin were swapping Transfiguration notes at the other end of their shared table, quizzing each other on spell theory. Ginny barely noticed when they stopped, determined to get another three inches done before she gave up on Potions in favour of her steadily-growing pile of Charms assignments.

"So has your Hufflepuff boyfriend given you the heave-to?" Colin asked suddenly. He had turned in his chair to face Ginny, folding his arms over his chest.

Ginny looked up in surprise. "What?"

"Well, you've stopped vanishing after dinner, and you're in the common room all the time," Colin said, as Zoë kicked at the legs of his chair and glared. "Ron wrote to me a few weeks ago, pumping me for information on your boyfriend. Which I didn't think you had, but he seemed fairly sure. He implied it was some Hufflepuff. Is that why you've been so distant this term? Always sneaking off and the like. But you've stopped lately, so I was wondering if he'd dumped you. Or you him."

"I don't have a Hufflepuff boyfriend," Ginny said, thinking furiously. Colin could be as bad as any of her brothers when it came to nosing about. "I only said it to Ron to stop him bothering me about Harry. He's been throwing him at my head all summer."

"And at Christmas, too?" Colin raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Because you _have_ been awful distant this year, Gin. Though I can't see why you'd want to dance around dating a Hufflepuff. They're not so bad."

"I said I'm not really. It was just to throw Ron off, to get him to leave me alone. And Mum and Dad too...if I hadn't, I'd never hear the end of it." Ginny shrugged. "'Harry' this, and 'Harry' that. They're impossible, I swear."

Zoë and Colin were both staring at her suspiciously. "Are you sure?" Zoë asked.

"Of course I'm sure! Zoë, I told you on the train. I can't always concentrate in here, and I need to study someplace without other people around. I don't run off to meet someone, I just find an empty classroom and work," Ginny said. "I'm not hiding anything."

And she _wasn't_ hiding anything right now, strictly speaking. She wasn't seeing Draco, after all, and she _did_ need quiet to study, something which was hard to come by in the Gryffindor common room.

"So should I tell Ron that, then?" Colin asked. "Tell him you were just having him on about it? Or should I say that you DID give your Hufflepuff the boot, put him off the scent?"

"No! Don't tell him anything! He can bloody well mind his own business!" Ginny said fiercely. "I'm just...trying to get my NEWTs, all right? That's all. Ron can go sod himself."

"All right, no need to get tetchy about it." Colin leaned back in his chair and pulled his Muggle Studies text onto his lap. "Though I hope you know you don't need to lie to _us_."

"Of course I know that, Colin, and I'm _not._ I do not have a Hufflepuff boyfriend, and I only go wandering off to study." And that wasn't even a lie. She _didn't_ have a boyfriend in Hufflepuff, and she _did_ wander off to study...most of the time. Ginny stomped down firmly on the snaking feeling of guilt and turned her attention back to her essay.

~*~

February gave way to the dreary days of March, with no real change in how things were going in the outside world. There were Death Eater attacks every few days; many of the Muggle students had withdrawn from Hogwarts entirely, as though that would save them from being attacked by You-Know-Who's minions. Quite a few of the Slytherins were gone too, as their parents withdrew them from the school to send them to Durmstrang or Beauxbatons, or simply to remove them from Dumbledore's reach.

Draco was feeling increasingly out of his depth as spring approached and his workload got even heavier. Ginny was busy too, spending most of her spare time studying for her NEWTs in the Library with her friends. Once or twice she had snuck down to his rooms to sprawl out on his bed, surrounded by books and parchment, and fire questions about Arithmancy or Potions at him, but it was hardly a regular occurrence. When she wasn't working, she was constantly tired and he knew she wasn't sleeping well, which meant he felt unaccountably guilty when she did come down to see him, dodging Filch and Mrs. Norris long after midnight to make it. She still refused to talk about her dreams, though, waving away his questions with a dismissive hand, and he didn't have the time to press her on it.

He had begun using Snape's workroom for brewing potions and his own small work station mainly for preparing ingredients; what free time he had that wasn't taken up with planning classes and marking was usually spent making things for Madam Pomfrey. Draco rather liked working in the long, low room; it was stunningly well equipped, which meant he could do more than one thing at a time. Which was handy, considering how much he had on his plate nowadays. The one bright spot in his day was knowing that Ginny was going to come down tonight; she had slipped him a note with her latest essay, and he sincerely hoped that she wasn't planning to visit him just to do homework. He'd have to convince her otherwise, he thought with a smile; she deserved a break, and he was tired of playing second fiddle to a pile of books.

Draco had turned the heat down on his strengthening potion to let it simmer overnight, still smiling, when Fawkes appeared in the air above his head, chirruping musically. The phoenix waited until Draco held out an expectant hand, dropped a small parchment onto his palm and vanished in a flash of fire.

It was a summons from Dumbledore, requesting his presence as soon as possible. Draco glanced at the clock on the wall in surprise. It was nearly ten, which seemed a bit late for a staff meeting. Curious, Draco finished putting away the rest of his supplies, washed his hands and made his way up to Dumbledore's office.

Fawkes was already back, perched on his stand by Dumbledore's desk, and he trilled as Draco entered. There was someone else in the room, sitting in the chair opposite Dumbledore's desk, who turned at Fawkes' sound of greeting. The man was dressed in plain robes, though he had a sort of bureaucratic, buttoned down air about him. Dumbledore smiled and motioned Draco closer. "Ah, there you are. Draco, this is Christian Keskull, from the Ministry of Magic. Christian, this is Draco."

"Ah, the new Potions teacher," the man said. "He seems young."

Dumbledore nodded. "Young, but able. He's been doing quite well, since Professor Snape...left us. Draco, Mr. Keskull has come with a request for us, which I hope you'll be able to help with."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "What sort of request?"

Keskull cleared his throat. "Well, you see, there's been some problems at the Ministry, some loss of stores, ingredients, that sort of thing. Nothing too serious," he blustered, "but we're under pressure from other sources, trying to get things up to snuff again, and we're falling a bit short in the Potions department. Were wondering if we might borrow some of Hogwarts' resources, just until we discover the source of our problems and get it fixed."

Which probably meant that You-Know-Who had managed to infiltrate the Ministry and sabotage their potions supplies. "And you'd like me to make potions for you?" Draco said.

"We've been tapping all the potions makers we can find, just asking them to take up a portion, give us a hand," Keskull said. He produced a small scroll of parchment from his robes and passed it over to Draco. "Hogwarts will be reimbursed, of course, and we'll provide glassware and what ingredients we can. I'd hoped that Professor Snape would be here, but I'm sure you'll do just as well. Time is of the essence, of course, so if you could have them for us in the next few weeks, that would be best."

Draco narrowed his eyes at the man, prepared to tell him to go stuff himself, but a slight movement from Dumbledore made him stop. "It won't be a problem, Mr. Keskull. I'm sure Draco would be happy to help."

"Yes, sir," Draco said stiffly, not that he had a choice. He nodded at Keskull, clutching the small parchment. "I'd be delighted."

"Good, good." Keskull clapped his hands together, seemingly unaware of the sarcasm in Draco's tone. "Then I'll leave you to it. Albus, I wonder if I could also have a moment of your time...?"

"Of course. Thank you, Draco," Dumbledore said, smiling kindly at Draco. He recognized a cue when he saw one, and made a hasty retreat.

Once out of Dumbledore's office and safe in his own room, Draco unfolded the note, scanning the parchment quickly. Then again, somewhat slower, with growing disbelief. They wanted a simply outrageous number of potions and salves, and how they thought he would be able to make them all himself, where he would find the _time_...

He sank into his desk chair and lowered his head into his hands, and was still staring at it when Ginny came down that evening, slipping through the door and shucking her Shadow cloak in one quick motion. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"I just had a meeting with Dumbledore and Christian Keskull from the Ministry, and they've given me a list of things they want me to make for them," Draco said, without raising his head. "You won't _believe_ what they want. No wonder Snape never had anything resembling a social life; all he ever did was _work_."

Ginny came and sat on the arm of the chair, wrapping her arms tight around his shoulders. "Let me see," she said, and leaned forward to tug at the paper. Draco lifted his elbow so she could pull it out and read it. Her eyebrows lifted in surprise as she did so.  
"They expect you to _make_ all of this?"

"_Yes._" Draco knew he sounded sulky, but he couldn't help it. There was more work there than a _dozen_ of him to get done in the time they wanted. There was no _way_ he could do it all alone. He groaned and raised his head, leaning back in the chair while Ginny read the list over, chewing on one ginger curl thoughtfully.

"Actually," she finally said, "it might not be that bad."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "It won't?"

"No, see? Look here." Ginny held the list out toward him, but Draco simply pulled her into his lap. Ginny grinned and nestled against him as he rested his chin on her shoulder. "Look. You don't have to do the sleeping draughts or the healing potions, any sixth year worth their salt can make those. Assign 'em in class, and bottle up the results for Madam Pomfrey. Some of the more advanced potions that they want in quantity, like the burn salves, I bet some of the seventh years could handle. And you can pick some of the better students—probably not any of the Slytherins, but from the other houses, certainly, to help you make the hardest potions. Make it a special project for extra marks. Most of the students would put in the extra time if you told them it was to help with the war."

Draco thought that over. "That might actually work," he said. "I didn't think of the students. Aren't you clever."

Ginny shrugged the shoulder he wasn't leaning on. "I have a big family. Division of labour is something I learned from my mum."

"Oh." Draco had never given much thought to how the Weasleys actually lived; it had always been enough to know that they were poor, which made them automatically unworthy of attention, like house elves or servants. In truth, Draco wasn't sure how he felt about her family anymore. Obviously he would never have fond feelings for the Weasel King, but as for the rest of them...he didn't really care, and Ginny was so sure of them.

"I never thought it'd come in so handy. The only thing that might be a problem is finding enough bottles and vials and the like," Ginny said. "Don't know what you'll do about that."

"They're sending glassware up," he said. "From the Ministry. And if it runs out then...I don't know. We'll transfigure things from the kitchens if we have to, I suppose."

"Well, then. There you are." Ginny leaned back against him. "No trouble at all."

"Mmmm." Draco rested his forehead in the curve where her neck met her shoulder. Ginny leaned her cheek against his hair for a moment, then shifted to face him, dropping the list onto the desk so she could cup his cheek, her fingers skating over his skin.

He leaned into her hand, marveling at how something so simple as her touch could make him believe that everything would be all right, so long as she was with him. Ginny smiled and leaned closer, kissing him lightly. Draco opened his mouth against hers, deepening the kiss almost immediately; it had far too long since they had been able to do this.

Ginny sighed into his mouth, her eyes drifting shut as he sank his hands into her hair, twining the soft strands around his fingers. Her hands slid to his chest and she pulled impatiently at his shirt, making a small, frustrated noise in the back of her throat. Draco lifted his mouth from hers with an effort and raised his eyebrows.

"Bed," she said firmly, and slid off his lap, pulling him with her by tugging on the fabric of his shirt. Draco stood up willingly and leaned down to kiss her again, not wanting to lose that contact even for the brief distance between his desk and the bed.

Ginny pushed at his shoulders and Draco moved, bringing her with him. He stopped when he felt the bed against the backs of his legs and bent to kiss her again, his hand anchored in her hair as he tilted her head to exactly the right angle. Ginny pulled his shirt out of his trousers and slid her hands under it, her small fingers gliding over his bare skin. Draco groaned aloud at the feel of her hands, and the shivers of sensation that surged through him whenever she touched him. She slid his shirt off quickly and he did the same with her robes, letting them fall to the floor as he pulled her down onto the bed and into his arms.

~*~

Ginny woke up to a dark room hours later; the candles had burned out and Draco was asleep beside her, one arm draped heavily across her midriff. He made a soft noise of protest, frowning in his sleep as she moved away from him and rolled out of bed. It was late—far past curfew, and Merlin only knew how much trouble she'd be in if she didn't get back to Gryffindor by morning. She gathered her things, dressing as quietly as she could, and then paused by the bed for a moment with her cloak draped over one arm.

Draco had curled himself around her pillow, looking like a little boy who'd had his teddy bear taken away. Ginny leaned over and kissed him softly on the cheek, brushing his fine, soft hair away from his face. He needed a haircut, really, though she rather liked the way it framed his face at this length and softened his sharp features. She'd have to mention it, if only to get a rise out of him by implying he wasn't keeping up with his grooming; he really was girly about it.

Ginny sighed and pulled herself away. Mooning over him while he slept wouldn't get her to Gryffindor before someone noticed she was gone, and it would go worse for them both if she was found outside her dormitory at this time of night. She swung her cloak over her shoulders and shut his door softly, then slid into the shadows along the wall, making for Gryffindor Tower.

She was just passing the entrance hall—which was always a tricky business as it was quite well-lit even at this time of night, with no convenient shadows to duck into should someone happen by—when she overheard some very familiar voices.

Ron.

Ron, Harry and Hermione, speaking from a corridor close to hers. Ginny crept cautiously forward, looking around the edge of the hall, to see the three of them standing smack in the middle of the corridor she needed to pass through to get to Gryffindor Tower, deep in conversation with Dumbledore.

"We can set up just about anywhere," Ron was saying, "and Lupin says he might send more Aurors up, just in case. I hope we're not putting you out, Professor."

"Not at all, Mr. Weasley. I can provide you with suites, of course, and Hogwarts will be able to accommodate as many as she needs to," Dumbledore said, his voice carrying through the corridor. He looked up then, straight at Ginny, and she froze with terror as his eyes widened. Of course he'd be able to see through her cloak. But he didn't say anything, just shifted his gaze back to Harry and Ron. "You need only pick where in the castle you'd like them."

"Private rooms are fine," Harry said, "but if we could stay near Gryffindor Tower..."

There was a hint of wistfulness in his voice that made Ginny's heart twinge. Poor Harry; he must have had a rough few months, to be so homesick for Hogwarts. Ron and Hermione shuffled closer to him, as though they could lend him strength with their nearness.

Dumbledore nodded. "Of course. In fact, I believe there are a few private rooms in the Tower."

"That'd be grand, Professor," Ron said. "Be just like old times."

That brought a faint smile to Harry's face. "Back in Gryffindor, Voldemort trying to kill me...exactly like old times."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione scolded, but Ron was laughing. Ginny smiled too, though they couldn't see her. It _would_ be just like old times.

The smile faded as Dumbledore looked at Ginny again. "There are things we should discuss that aren't suited to a corridor, however. We'll withdraw to my office, while the rooms are prepared, and then you can be settled for the night." He turned, and Harry, Ron and Hermione followed as he led them out of the corridor. Ginny gathered her cloak around her and raced toward the Tower; she didn't know how much time she had, but she'd better be there when they got there.

She lay in bed and listened to the familiar night sounds of Gryffindor Tower; the girls breathing softly, the creaking of the window shutters in the wind, the occasional moan from one of the castle ghosts. Soon enough she heard muffled voices in the common room, and the sound of footsteps mounting the stairs to the girl's dorms. Hermione, it must be, being led to her private room in the Tower. The boys would be climbing the other stairs, to their own room up there. Ginny wondered if they would be as nice as Draco's. The thought of his probable reaction to their presence made her smile; it was probably just as well that they weren't all being roomed in the same corridor. Draco wasn't going to be at all pleased to find out they were here. She drifted away from wakefulness with that thought, and for once, her sleep was dreamless.

~*~

Draco didn't often mix with the other Hogwarts teachers; he wasn't technically one of them, and it made him uncomfortable to spend time in the staff room when he knew they were censoring their conversations because of him. McGonagall had never liked him, Hagrid had despised him since third year, when Draco had tried to get him sacked, and most of the other professors were distant with him, either out of indifference or simply because he was who he was. Even Fleur Delacour—a foreigner—had more cachet than the unwelcome son of a Death Eater who'd only been made a teacher because Snape was gone. So it was a surprise to find himself shaken out of bed and summoned to the staff room first thing in the morning by a haughty, somewhat disgruntled Fawkes.

The rest of the teachers were arranged around a large table that had been conjured in the middle of the long room when Draco arrived. He took a seat near the end of the table beside Professor Vector, the Arithmancy master, who barely looked up from his mug of tea. The other staff were talking quietly amongst themselves, though none of them invited Draco to join in their conversations. He hadn't really expected them to, and busied himself with his notes for his coming lessons, only glancing up as the staff room door opened and Dumbledore swept in.

Followed by Potter, Weasley and Granger.

Draco stiffened, and forced himself not to shrink back so that he was hidden behind Vector's bulk. What on earth were _they_ doing here?

"Good morning," Dumbledore said to the assembled staff. "I apologize for the abrupt summons, but as you can see, we have a few guests, and there are some things that must be discussed before classes. Please, settle yourselves and we'll begin in a few minutes. I believe Professor McGonagall has made tea."

"'Arry!" Hagrid had risen to envelope Potter in a huge—and probably smelly—hug, his enormous coat all but swallowing Potter up. "'Bout time you got here!"

Potter nodded and smiled, disengaging from Hagrid's overenthusiastic embrace to take his seat, nodding at the other teachers. Hagrid had moved on to Granger and Weasley, who hugged him too, and pulled out chairs beside his oversized stool, glancing up and down the table. The other teachers seemed just as pleased to see them, though Draco couldn't fathom why. Since when was Potter ever a harbinger of good news?

Weasley did a comical double-take when he spotted Draco and elbowed Potter, who turned to stare. Draco met Potter's eyes, a bit surprised at how little their whispers and stares mattered to him. He felt so far removed from the person who had loathed Weasley and Potter just a year ago that it was almost like he was a different person.

Well, that wasn't true. He still loathed Weasley and Potter, it just mattered less what they thought of him in return. Which, judging from the looks he was receiving, wasn't much. Weasley poked Potter in the ribs, and the speccy git leaned over to say something to Dumbledore, who listened with his normal grave air.

"Mr. Malfoy has been with us since the beginning of the summer," Dumbledore said, his voice carrying through the room. All the teachers looked between Dumbledore and Draco himself; Draco stiffened and stared down at the books in front of him, determined not to shrink away from the attention. Dumbledore's eyes, though, stayed sternly fixed on Potter. "He is currently acting as our Potions master, since Professor Snape's...accident."

"Oh," was all Potter said before leaning back in his chair, obviously not pleased. Weasley and Granger set to whispering quietly; they only subsided when Dumbledore stood up at the head of the table to start the meeting, and McGonagall reached out and rapped Weasley on the arm.

Draco tried to pay attention—this was his first time at such a meeting, and he didn't really want to miss anything. But it was hard with Weasley, Potter and Granger shooting him caustic glares and scribbling little notes to one another. Aside from their antics, though, the meeting itself was surprisingly dull. There was little real news, beyond Potter and his little gang being sent to Hogwarts in order to keep Potter out of You-Know-Who's way. He was their hero, after all, and it'd be a shame if he died before managing to actually _kill_ the Dark Lord.

The meeting drew to a close and Draco didn't waste any time scooping up his books and making for the door. He wanted to get away from the staff room before Potter or his little cronies could manage to corner him and ask too many questions. His defection to Hogwarts wasn't something Draco cared to discuss with _Potter_. If he could get to the dungeons, he'd be able to avoid them without trouble.

_If_ he could get there. Which wasn't going to happen; Potter bore down on him in the hall outside the staff room and cornered him on the stairs. Thankfully he'd left his little sidekicks behind, but he blocked the stairway down to the dungeon quite effectively by himself, preventing Draco from passing.

So much for his quick escape. "What do you want?" Draco demanded.

"I'm trying to figure out what you're up to." Potter shifted, his hands stuffed in his pockets. Curled around his wand, no doubt, as though Draco were going to attack him here, with an armful of books and half the staff a corridor away.

"Right now I'm about to return to my rooms. I have work to do." Draco didn't bother to keep the impatience out of his voice. He really didn't have time for this—he had a dozen anti-coagulant tonics to make, and Dumbledore had asked him earlier if he would look into making Wolfsbane potion, as though he didn't have enough to do already.

"Work," Potter said scornfully. "I'll just bet. I don't know what you're doing here, but you'd better watch yourself, Malfoy. Dumbledore may trust you, but I don't."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "I don't particularly care if you trust me or not, Potter. I'm not here for _your_ benefit."

"Then whose benefit _are_ you here for? Your father? Are you spying on us?"

Draco's hands tightened on the books he was holding. Potter had always been a trial. "You," he said tightly, "have no idea what you're talking about."

"No? Then why? Don't tell me you've suddenly had a change of heart." Potter tossed his hair out of his eyes and pushed his glasses up his nose. "What's the real reason you're here?"

"I don't have to justify myself to you," Draco said. "Now get out of my way."

Which was a mistake, because Potter couldn't turn down anything he perceived as a challenge. He shifted his stance, drawing his wand half out of his pocket. "No."

But Draco was saved by the rapid click of boot heels approaching from the corridor behind him. Harry looked past him and straightened up, looking for all the world like he'd just been caught doing something that would cost him House points. Draco turned too, as Professor McGonagall came to a halt at the top of the stairs. "There you are, Draco. I meant to catch you before you left the meeting. Dumbledore said you might be needing glassware, so I'm planning to have my fifth and sixth years start on transfiguring glasses into vials for you. I'll arrange to send them down to your workroom with one of the house elves when I get back to my office," she said.

"Thank you, Professor," Draco replied.

Professor McGonagall nodded, and turned her firm stare to Harry. "Mr. Potter," she said, "I believe you're wanted in the Headmaster's office. I would not keep him waiting, if I were you."

Harry muttered something and pushed past Draco, none too gently. Draco watched him go, aware of McGonagall's eyes on him. He risked a glance at her, and although she was watching him, it wasn't with the hostility he was expecting. "I'll go see about that glassware," she said, and reached out to pat him on the shoulder as she turned to follow Potter up the corridor.

Draco watched her go with bemusement. McGonagall had never treated him with anything even remotely resembling kindness before, and it seemed odd that she'd take his side in front of _Potter_, of all people. It was the strangest start to a day he'd ever had.

~*~

Ginny looked up as Ron and Hermione climbed through the portrait hole, talking animatedly as they found an empty couch in the common room. Ron looked especially outraged as he flung himself onto the cushions. "I can't believe it!" he was saying, "I can't believe Dumbledore would _allow_ it!"

"Allow what?" Ginny asked.

Ron spun around to face her. "Did you know that Malfoy is here?"

Ginny blinked, struggling to keep her face impassive. "Of course. He's been here since the beginning of the year." _And I told him to come here_. "I suppose he arrived here over the summer. That would have been why he went missing."

Ron opened his mouth, then closed it again. "He's been here _all year_?"

"Yeah." Ginny shrugged casually. "He was helping Snape. When Snape went missing he took over classes. He's all right, I guess."

Ron goggled at her. "You could have _said_ something!" he yelled. "You could have _warned_ me! Let me know that the bloody bastard doesn't have the decency to stay gone! Merlin, Ginny!"

"Oh, come off it, Ron. Since when are you interested in Hogwarts gossip?" Ginny rolled her eyes in exasperation.

"Since I'm worried about your safety! And I think having the son of Voldemort's biggest supporter here at Hogwarts all year would give me ample cause for concern!" Ron yelled.

"And Dumbledore would never have let him stay, much less teach, if there were any reason for you to be concerned," Ginny replied. "So I don't see what the fuss is."

Ron opened and closed his mouth a few times. "It's just not right," he finally muttered, flopping into a chair near the fire. "It's not _fair_. He was supposed to be on the _other_ side, not flouncing about like a prat at Hogwarts!"

"Oh, Ron," Hermione said. "People are allowed to change, you know. And maybe Ginny's right, and he has. Dumbledore wouldn't let him stay here if he were a spy, after all. Though you really should have said something," she said to Ginny.

Ginny shrugged. "He doesn't leave the castle," she volunteered. "So if he's spying, he's not doing a very good job. I think he _has_ changed."

"I'll believe that when I see it," Ron muttered.

Ginny caught Hermione's eye and shrugged again, then pretended to return to her book. She was more concerned with what Ron _didn't_ see; she wasn't about to tell him or Harry or Hermione about her relationship with Draco. And if they were going to spend all of their time in the common room—which seemed likely—then it was going to be that much more difficult for her to do any sneaking of her own.

But she had to try, because she wasn't going to cut herself off from Draco until the war was over. So several days later she slipped a note to Draco in with her Potions assignment, to tell him she'd come by that night. After the girls in her dorm were sleeping soundly, Ginny pulled her Shadow cloak over her nightdress, slipped her feet into her shoes and made her way down to the common room. It was empty, and Ginny grinned in delight as she crossed the room to the portrait. This wasn't going to be as hard as she thought.

 

"Ginny, is that you?"

Ginny froze in mid-step, her hand on the portrait. "Hermione."

"What are you doing, sneaking out of the common room at this time of night?" Hermione was standing at the base of the dormitory stairs, holding the edges of her dressing gown together with one hand, her hair in a messy braid. "Ginny, it's nearly gone two!"

"I know," Ginny said. She sighed and let the hood of her cloak drop back as she turned to face the other girl. "I was just—"

"Just what?" Hermione took a few steps forward, looking closely at Ginny. "Why would you possibly need to sneak out of the common room in the middle of the night?"

Ginny swore inwardly. "It's really nothing. I was just going to go down to the kitchens for a snack, that's all. Hungry."

Hermione narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "You were sneaking out for a _snack_? Ginny, that's so unbelievably _foolish_—"

"Oh, and you've never done anything foolish?" Ginny snapped, and immediately regretted it as Hermione recoiled at her tone. "I'm sorry, Hermione, you're right. It was a silly idea. I wasn't thinking."

"No, I don't imagine you _were_ thinking. Ginny, what's got _into_ you lately?" Hermione demanded. "You've been withdrawn and secretive, and now you're sneaking out of the Tower in the middle of the night? What is going on?"

"It's nothing, Hermione. I'm sorry I woke you. I won't go, if it worries you." Ginny retreated back toward the stair, slipping her cloak off. Draco would be worried if she didn't come, but she'd worry about getting a message to him after she got Hermione back to her room—right now stopping the other girl from asking questions was more important.

"Ginny, I want to know what's going on," Hermione insisted. She stepped back so that she was blocking Ginny's path up the stairs. "This secrecy and creeping around, it isn't like you."

"Oh, because you'd know, of course," Ginny snapped before she could stop herself. She bit her lip and cursed inwardly as Hermione drew back, shocked.

"Ginny!"

Ginny resisted the urge to sigh. Try as she might, everything she said was make things worse. "Look Hermione, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. But you have to admit it's a bit hypocritical of you to be telling _me_ I shouldn't be sneaking out when I know you and Harry and Ron spent most of your Hogwarts years breaking one rule or another." She bit her lip as Hermione's frown deepened. "I wasn't doing anything bad, all right? I was just going for something to eat. It's not important, it can wait 'til morning. I didn't mean to alarm you."

Hermione examined her carefully, as though she could see through the lie. "I still say you're not acting like yourself, Ginny. If—" she hesitated, then took a deep breath and got the rest of her sentence out in a rush. "If there's something wrong...anything, anything at all, you know you can talk to me. I don't want you to think that you can't talk to me—to any of us."

Ginny summoned up a smile. "I do know. And I would, Hermione. You know that."

"I don't know that I do, Ginny," Hermione replied slowly. "I think you _are_ hiding something, there's something you don't want to tell anyone. Is it because you think I would tell Ron? Because I wouldn't."

"Unless you thought it was something he needed to know," Ginny said softly. "Unless you thought that whatever I was doing would end with me getting hurt, and you could prevent it."

Hermione frowned, but didn't disagree. "Is that so wrong? To want you to be safe?"

"Hermione, you can't protect me." Ginny shrugged her cloak off her shoulders and started toward the stair. "You can't, and Ron can't, and Mum and Dad can't. It isn't up to you to decide what's best for me."

Hermione caught her arm as she passed. "Ginny, I know that. All I want—all any of us wants—is to be sure you're not doing anything that's going to hurt you," she said. "If you want to share anything with me, you know you can. I won't tell Ron if you ask me not to. But please, _please_ don't do anything foolish."

For a moment Ginny was almost tempted to tell her, to spill out everything she'd had to hide from everyone for so long. To just be honest, no having to skulk around and pretend anymore. But Hermione wouldn't understand; she would be shocked and appalled and demand that Ginny stop seeing Draco. And she _would_ tell Ron, because none of them believed Draco was good at all. "I don't have anything to tell you," Ginny sighed, disengaging her sleeve from the other girl's grasp. "Really."

She knew Hermione was watching her as she retreated up the stairs, knew that it was only a matter of time before Hermione made one of her leaps of logic and guessed Ginny's secret. She was a smart woman, and far more observant than Harry or Ron; she'd be watching Ginny after  
this.

It brought Ginny face to face with one of the things she'd tried to avoid thinking about since this whole thing with Draco began. Her family would never approve of him, Ron would be livid, Harry and Hermione might never forgive her if they were found out. Ron's reaction in the common room earlier was proof of that; he hated Draco, like Dad hated Lucius Malfoy. Her entire family would be against her, if they found out about her secret. Ginny didn't know what she'd do if that happened. She didn't know if she could live without her family's approval.

But she didn't know if she could live without Draco anymore, either.


	8. Chapter 8

~*~

Draco scanned the groups of students as they entered the Great Hall in twos and threes, searching for a familiar mass of red curls. He spotted her brother first, as Weasley piled through the doors with Potter and Granger, their heads close together. Ginny was half-hidden behind the three of them, her eyes down, not quite a part of their little threesome. She looked tired, but lately she always did. Perhaps that was why she hadn't come last night—if she was too tired, Draco couldn't very well begrudge her sleep.

Ginny's friends came trailing in too, caught up in Potter's wake like so much flotsam. Draco couldn't hold back a small sneer. Potter had barely been here a day, and already things were exactly as they were before he left. Except now Draco filled Snape's place at the Head Table, and the trio were finding themselves seats at the Gryffindor table as though they were still students.

Draco watched them settle onto the benches. Weasley patted the seat beside him and motioned Ginny to join them. She did, glancing up at Draco as she sat. Her eyes flicked to Weasley and back to him, then she tilted her head at the group and shrugged very slightly. One of them must have caught her on her way out last night.

Draco inclined his head and returned to his breakfast. He could see where this was going; he wasn't going to be able to see her at all while she had her brother and his irritating friends watching over her. He'd have to be content with seeing her in class, as unsatisfactory as that was, and hope that she might be able to sneak away at some other time.

And hope that she would still _want_ to. Maybe having her brother and his friends around all the time would start her thinking that their relationship wasn't a good idea.

The tiny seed of dread that thought planted in Draco's stomach stayed with him all day, and made him as short-tempered and irritable as Snape ever was—not necessarily a bad thing, as he had a full compliment of Slytherin classes today, and an edge of anger always helped when dealing with his former House mates.

Most of the real troublemakers in Slytherin were gone now, having been withdrawn by their parents and sent off to other schools. The ones left were the weakest and lowest, the ones Draco never talked to when he was a student—they were below his social strata, not worthy of his attention. That very familiarity meant that half the time the little brats didn't listen to a word he said, and seemed bent on making his life as miserable as they could. Draco never thought he'd get such satisfaction out of taking points from his own house.

It was second-years this morning, and half the Slytherins hadn't even bothered to unpack their potions supplies. The little snots were laughing and talking, casting smirking looks at the Hufflepuffs on the other side of the room, all of whom had their things neatly laid out. Draco surveyed the room with distaste, noting the way the Hufflepuffs eyed him with terror and the Slytherins deliberately raised their voices and turned their backs on him when he looked in their direction. Draco gritted his teeth. He really, _really_ hated his job.

"We will be studying Swelling Solutions today," Draco said, raising his voice to carry over the chattering students. "Five points from every student who is not prepared to work within the next thirty seconds," he snapped, and was gratified to see a flurry of activity as the Slytherins began pulling out their supplies. At least the second-years were too timid to defy him openly. Draco suppressed a sigh and turned to the board to begin the day's lesson.

~*~

Ginny managed to make it through most of her classes without blowing anything up, which was a minor miracle considering how tired she was. It was probably just as well they didn't have Potions; the capacity for destruction was far greater there. Not to mention that she overheard Mina Marple in Herbology telling her friends that Draco was in a "mood"

"He told my sister Myrna that she was useless, and it was lucky she managed not to spoil water," Mina said with a sniff. "She was in tears by the end of class. Just _wait_ 'til I tell Father about it. He'll be livid, I bet. He'll go _straight_ to Dumbledore."

Her little gaggle of friends nodded and made sympathetic noises while Mina tossed her over-curled hair. Ginny caught Zoë's eye over their plant pots and raised her eyebrows, torn between laughter and worry; she didn't know what the hapless Myrna had done to draw Draco's temper but if he was picking on Slytherins, he must be in a truly foul mood. She _had_ to get away and see him soon. She'd go mad if she didn't, and if his mood was any indication, he might too.

But getting out to see him meant getting past Hermione, who had taken to staying in the common room 'til all hours poring over old books pulled from the Restricted Section of the library, researching some point or other in her quest to find a spell that would help Harry destroy You-Know-Who once and for all. Hermione didn't seem to sleep anymore. No matter what time Ginny crept down the dormitory steps Hermione was there, curled up in a chair and plowing her way through text after huge, dusty text.

Sneaking down to the dungeon during normal school hours was impossible as well. The teachers watched the students all the time, and most were escorted to and from their classes or the Great Hall. Hogsmeade trips, needless to say, were cancelled. Ginny threw herself further into her studies. NEWTs were only a few months away, and she had more work than ever.

She spent most of her time in the common room trying to block out the noise of the other Gryffindors, not to mention the endless chatter of Ron, Harry and Hermione, who seemed to feel that she wanted their company and tended to set up shop wherever she was studying. The boys were sprawled on the couch she had chosen tonight, with Hermione curled up with a book in a chair opposite, talking—as always—about the war, the latest attacks, their strategies, and occasionally the newest intelligence. Ginny felt almost flattered; a year ago, they wouldn't have included anyone in their conversations like this.

Ron stretched his long legs out in front of him, idly knocking a boot against the foot of Hermione's chair. "I think you're right Harry. It _is_ worse being cooped up here."

"I told you it would be," Harry muttered, staring at Ron's feet morosely. "No one wishes we weren't more than I do."

"There's a very good reason why you're here, Harry, and it's because we can't go risking you in some minor skirmish when you're our only hope to defeat Voldemort," Hermione said sternly. "And you know that. It's why you agreed to come."

"I _know_ it, but I don't _like_ it. At least when we were all out there we were doing something _useful_," Harry said. "Fighting back. It's all very well for you to sit about doing research, Hermione, but I need to know that I'm doing some good."

"What you're doing is useful," Hermione said. "Or it would be, if you'd pick up a book and actually _help_ me."

"We are helping," Ron said. "We're providing much-needed moral support, aren't we, Harry? Buck up, there, Hermione, you're doing a fine job."

Harry smiled at that, as Hermione shot a deadly glare at Ron. "It's just frustrating, is all," he said. "Not being able to do anything but sit around and wait."

"And add to that Malfoy being here," Ron muttered. Ginny suppressed a frustrated sigh as Ron kicked at Hermione's chair as though it were Draco's head. "And I still haven't managed to discover why he'd come back to Hogwarts."

"If he's spying on us he's playing it close to the chest," Hermione said absently. "Though I'm starting to think that he isn't...I don't think he ever leaves the dungeons except for meals. He certainly hasn't left the castle, and I don't think I've seen him go up to the Owlery since we've got here. Or gotten any owls, for that matter. Didn't his mother used to send him packages every day at school?"

"Doesn't mean he's not spying on us," Harry pointed out. "It's not like we can watch him all the time. He could be off sending owls when we don't see him."

"Even if we don't watch him, Dumbledore surely is. He watches everything that goes on in the castle. Particularly now," Hermione said, and returned to her book, clearly unconcerned.

Harry scowled at her. "I still don't like it."

"I don't either," Ron seconded, "I'm with you, mate. Don't like it one bit. But least we don't have to talk to him."

"I don't see any reason why we shouldn't," Hermione said, and smiled slightly at Ron and Harry's outraged gasps. "If we made an effort to be friendly, he might even be friendly back. It's one way to know for sure if he's spying or not."

"We can't be _friends_ with him!" Ron sputtered. "Hermione, that's just—it's just—it's ludicrous!"

"No, it's not," Hermione replied, serenely turning a page in her book. She looked very pleased with herself; Ginny thought she said things like that just to watch Ron go red. "Doesn't Dumbledore always say that we should take our friends where we find them?"

"I'm not being friends with that git!"

"I don't see why you're making such a fuss about it," Ginny said, looking at Ron over the top of her DADA notes. "He's not doing anything to you, is he? And Dumbledore would know if he were using the castle Floo network or something, or passing on information...and if he never leaves the dungeons—which he doesn't—then what information would he _have_ to pass on?"

"That's not the point," Ron grumbled. "And anyway, I bet he's nasty to _you_. I bet he's taking every opportunity to make all your lives miserable. Malfoy, in charge of a class full of Gryffindors? He's having a ball, I'm sure."

"Not really," Colin said. He had left the table where he was studying Herbology with Zoë and slumped against the back of the couch, resting his torso on his crossed arms as he leaned forward. "Mostly he ignores us. I don't think he's said two words to our class since he took over teaching. I mean, we share class with Ravenclaw and he picks on them, and Dennis says he's as bad as Snape to the other Gryffindors, but he leaves the seventh years pretty much alone. Bit odd, really. You'd think he'd be all over us, but he's not."

"That is odd," Harry said. "Malfoy never wasted any time getting the Gryffindors in trouble when he was a prefect."

"Well, he isn't trying anymore," Colin said. "He barely even corrects us when we do things wrong. It's like he's pretending we're not there."

Ginny flushed guiltily and bent her head so that her hair covered her flaming cheeks. The reason Draco ignored the seventh year Gryffindors was because he didn't want to be seen paying attention to _her_. But she couldn't very well say so.

Ron shook his head, baffled. "That is definitely not Malfoy-like behaviour. I _swear_ he is up to something. I think we should keep a close eye on him. Make sure that he isn't doing anything shady."

"Oh, _Ron._" Hermione sighed with exasperation. "I wish you'd just leave it alone."

"C'mon, Hermione, it's weird! And it is Malfoy, after all...how do we know he's not sending reports back to his dad when no one is looking? It's not like any of the teachers watch him," Ron insisted. "If we did, I bet we could catch him at it. Couldn't we, Harry?"

Ginny slammed her book shut in frustration before Harry could reply. "All right, I've had enough. If you're just going to sit about and talk this to death, then I'm going somewhere else. Somewhere I can actually _study_," she said, as they all turned to stare at her in astonishment. She couldn't sit here another minute and listen to them badmouth Draco, not when she couldn't even defend him. She shoved her textbooks back into her bag and stepped over Ron's legs. "I'm sure you haven't anything better to do, Ron, but I do."

"I'm only saying that—"

"I don't want to hear it! I don't see why you can't simply trust Dumbledore's judgment, but either way, I'm tired of listening to you complain. You've been going on about—about Malfoy since you got here." Ginny swung her book bag over her shoulder, ignoring Ron's startled look. "I'm off to find somewhere _quiet_."

"Actually, Ginny, I'll come with you," Hermione said. "I need to go to the library anyway. I've been meaning to talk to Madam Pince. I'm sure she has more books on what I'm researching...she's just refusing to let me have them."

Ginny bit her lip in frustration—she didn't want Hermione to come, but there was no way to get her to stay behind without raising suspicion. Ginny waited with well-hidden impatience while the other girl gathered her things, and they made their way through the nearly-empty halls to the library, Hermione chattering on about her research. Ginny nodded in the appropriate places, and found a convenient table for them in an out-of-the-way corner while Hermione went off to corner Madam Pince.

Ginny spread her things out and pulled her Potions scroll over. Even if she couldn't talk to Draco, at least she could work on the subject he taught. Their latest essay was quite complicated, on designing and brewing effective poison antidotes, and Ginny was struggling with the last two feet. She pulled out her quill and bent her head to her parchment when a soft noise made her look up.

Her eyes widened in surprise. Draco was standing in the library stacks right in front of her table, far enough back that he wouldn't be seen by anyone in the main aisle of the library. He was scowling in irritation and once her attention was on him, he beckoned her over with a short, sharp gesture.

He'd gone mad, clearly; it was far too dangerous. Ginny shook her head and tilted her chin at the back of the library, where Hermione was deep in conversation with Madam Pince. Draco moved forward and leaned out of the stacks to look, his lips thinning as he caught sight of Hermione's bushy head. Ginny shrugged a silent apology at him, but it only served to deepen his glare.

Ginny knew she should look away, but she couldn't make herself do it. She couldn't talk to him in public, but for these few moments, with Hermione's back turned and no one else paying attention, she could look at him—something she couldn't do in class or in the halls. There were dark circles staining the fragile skin under his eyes, and his hair was slightly messy, which was downright shocking, for Draco. Ginny's fingers itched to touch it, to push it back into place for him...or to muss it further. A wave of longing swept through her, so fierce it made her hands tremble.

Draco stared back, his eyes locked with hers as though he could read her thoughts. It was all Ginny could do to stay in her chair, to not give in to the need to go to him, to touch him, and damn the consequences. Draco swayed forward, almost as if he were fighting the same desire. Another moment and she would simply give it up; surely there was _somewhere_ in the library they could go and not be spotted.

Hermione's sudden appearance derailed that train of thought immediately. She dumped a pile of old manuscripts on the table and sat down with a happy smile, almost obscuring Ginny's view of the shelves opposite. Ginny schooled her face to blandness, pretending to turn her attention to the manuscripts. She could see Draco, barely, behind Hermione's shoulder; he scowled even more fiercely and pulled a book out of the shelf beside him at random, flipping through the pages with such force Ginny worried he'd rip them.

"Well, that wasn't nearly as hard as I expected," Hermione said brightly. "Madam Pince seems to have seen reason. And a good thing too. I'm sure that I'll find what I'm looking for in here...a lot of these older books don't get looked at because people think they're not important, but sometimes you can find something useful. "

Ginny nodded, her eyes on Draco over Hermione's shoulder; the other girl didn't even notice, her whole attention on the manuscripts. Draco reshelved his book with an angry thump. Ginny jumped despite herself, watching as he strode out from between the bookcases.

Hermione glanced up at the noise. "Oh, hello, Malfoy," she said, the cheerfulness she put into her voice ringing slightly false. "How are you doing today?"

"What's it to you, _mudblood_?" Draco sneered, and stalked away down the main aisle of the library without replying, his spine set in a rigid line. Ginny stared after him, numb with shock.

Hermione was staring too, her face slowly turning red. "Well, _really_," she said finally, her mouth set in a thin line, watching Draco's retreating back. "I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt when we found out he was here, but honestly. He hasn't changed a _bit_."

"I can't believe he said that," Ginny said. She was shocked he'd say something like that in front of _her_. To one of her friends. She hadn't even known he still _thought_ like that.

Hermione huffed and pushed her hair away from her face. "Well, I suppose I'll just stop suggesting to Harry and Ron that they be nice to him anymore. He doesn't deserve it." She paused and bit her lip, and Ginny stared at her in concern. Hermione was normally unflappable, but Draco's comment seemed to have sincerely shaken her. "I really had hoped that he'd...well. It doesn't matter. Once a git, always a git, I suppose." She shook her head and pulled one of the ancient manuscripts toward her.

"I suppose," Ginny agreed, and picked up her own quill mechanically, her shock slowly fading into a slow, angry burn. She didn't know how he could say something like that, but damn it, she was going to find out.

~*~

Draco retreated to his room in a frustrated rage. Damn that stupid mudblood Granger anyway, and damn her interfering friends, and the idiotic rules that were keeping Ginny from him. The only thing he really _wanted_, and he couldn't have her on the say-so of one senile old man and a whole host of people who didn't know enough to bloody well go _away_ when he wanted them to.

And the nerve of that mudblood, daring to talk to him like that! No doubt thinking that he wanted to be a part of their little gang, as though his presence at Hogwarts meant that he'd somehow sunk to her level, that he'd be _friends_ with them now. Not bloody likely.

Draco stomped around in a small circle, then hauled back and kicked the edge of his desk. He swore as pain shot through his foot—the desk was solid oak—and limped over to his bed, throwing himself down onto the coverlet with a frustrated sigh. He wanted Ginny, wanted her so badly he couldn't think straight anymore. Trying to draw her over in the library was sheer madness, and he knew it. Merlin only knew what would happen if they had been caught. Even exchanging glances was dangerous.

Draco sighed again and dragged himself off the bed. He'd have to try and get some work done, and see if that couldn't take his mind off his horrible situation. He gathered up all of the essays that had been piling on his desk and slumped into a chair in front of the fire; at least he could vent some of his frustration onto the badly-written, ill-conceived essays the fourth-years had handed in this week.

Several hours and a small mountain of scrolls later, Draco's door opened, and Ginny slipped inside, shrouded in the folds of her Shadow cloak. Draco was on his feet and beside her almost before her cloak was completely off, knowing he was grinning like an idiot, but unable to help it.

"Hello," she began, but Draco cut off the rest of the sentence with his mouth. Ginny kissed him back almost perfunctorily then pushed him away. "I wanted to talk to you," she said. "About Hermione."

Draco sighed. They'd been apart for ages and she wanted to _talk_. "What about her?"

"You know what," Ginny said, and she sounded almost angry. "About what you said to her in the library today."

Draco blinked. "What?"

"You _know_ what!" Ginny exclaimed. "I _heard_ you! You called her a—a—I couldn't even believe you'd _say_ something like that!"

"What, a mudblood? Well, she _is_," Draco said, and raised his eyebrows in surprise as Ginny went an alarming shade of red. "She's Muggle-born, isn't she?"

Ginny sputtered for a moment, at a loss for words. When she found her voice, it was trembling with fury. "That doesn't mean you can call her names!"

"It doesn't matter—"

"It _does_ matter. Hermione is my friend, and you can't just say things like that about her!" Ginny snapped. "What difference does it make if she's got Muggle blood? She's still the best witch I've ever met."

Draco snorted, beginning to be annoyed. "She's Muggle-born," he said. And really, that explained everything.

Ginny didn't seem to think so. "Like that makes a difference!"

"Of course it makes a difference. She's Muggle-born. We're not." He reached toward her again, but Ginny pulled away. Draco stared at her, shocked. She had _never_ done that before.

"So because she's got Muggle parents, she's somehow got less right to be a wizard than you or I do?" she demanded. "Is that what you're saying? That if _I_ were Muggle-born, I wouldn't be worth as much either?"

"You're not—"

"But what if I were? _Would_ you still talk to me if I was Muggle-born?" Ginny demanded. "Would you have—" she waved her hand in the direction of the bed, "have been with me, if I weren't a pureblood?"

"What do you think?" Draco retorted. His temper was mounting. What difference did it make? She _was_ a pureblood; maybe born into a family with traitorous ideas, but still pureblooded. She wasn't some filthy mudblood, and that was all that mattered. He couldn't see why she was making such a fuss over something so silly.

"It doesn't matter what I think," she said tightly, clenching her hands into fists. "I want to hear you say it."

"Fine. It wouldn't matter if you weren't pureblood," Draco lied. "Happy now?"

"_No_," she said, and Draco rolled his eyes. "It would make me happy if you were _honest_ with me. Don't put me off by telling me whatever you think I want to hear."

"Fine, then," he snapped. "_No_. No, I would not be with you if you weren't a pureblood. Is that better?"

Ginny paled and opened her mouth, then shut it again. She swallowed and turned her face away, closing her eyes. "I don't know how you can think that," she said after a moment, her voice trembling. "Why should it matter who my parents were, what sort of _breeding_ I have?"

"It just _does_," Draco said. Of course it did. It was what he had been raised to believe; it was the centre-point of his entire upbringing. He took a deep breath and clamped down on his temper. "We have _pure blood_," he began, choosing his words with care. He _would_ make her understand. He had to. "We shouldn't be mixing with Muggles, we should be preserving our wizard blood, protecting our world. Not breeding with people who don't know anything, who are just going to try and change things from the way they should be done."

"So because it's always been done this way, it always should be?" Ginny said, and waved one had to cut him off before he could speak. "And it has not always been done! We've been mingling with Muggles since the Hogwarts founding. Longer. There's no such thing as pure wizarding blood."

"Yes there _is_, and we have it," Draco said. "We have a duty to make sure it _stays_ that way, and not go 'round dirtying it up."

Ginny stared at him for a moment, and Draco realized that he had said something wrong. "'Dirtying it up'?" she said incredulously. "There's nothing dirty about Muggles. They just don't have any magic, that doesn't make them inferior!"

"Yes it _does_!" Draco snapped. "Of course it does. We aren't like them. We're special. We have magic, and it makes us different—"

"Different doesn't mean better! You really think that just because both your parents had magic, that makes you superior to anyone else?" Ginny demanded. "You really believe that?"

"Yes. Because we _are _better. We _are _more important, and we _do_ have powers that set us above Muggles, and it doesn't make sense that people who have been wizards for generations should be shunted to one side for people who don't even know what magic is!"

Ginny gaped at him, shaking her head. "I can't believe that you really think that."

"Why not? It's _true_. We're wizards for a reason, we're pure-blooded for a reason, and you can't just say it doesn't matter that we have magic. We should be preserving that magic instead of diluting it with Muggle blood!" Draco pushed a hand through his hair in frustration. How could she be angry that he had _standards_? Even his _father_ didn't care about proper blood anymore, running around and consorting with You-Know-Who.

"Fine, then," Ginny said stiffly, as though it were hard for her to get the words out. "Fine. You'd rather think that you're somehow superior to everyone else than see that magic's got nothing to do with what sort of family you're born into."

She moved away and picked her cloak up from where it had fallen to the stone floor, swinging it over her shoulders. She was going to leave, he realized suddenly. It had been weeks since they'd been able to be alone, and she was _leaving_. "Ginny, don't—"

She acted as though she hadn't heard, pulling the hood of her cloak up and opening the door, shutting it behind her as she left without a backward glance.

~*~

Ginny stalked back up to Gryffindor Tower in a white rage, so utterly furious that she could barely remember to be cautious. How _dare_ he say things like that about Hermione? About _any_ of her friends? All of her friends had some Muggle blood. Every last one. Zoë's mum was a Muggle, both of Colin's parents were Muggle, Harry was, even Adrienne and Shelley had some Muggle blood. In fact, she could only think of one other family in Gryffindor besides her own who were totally pure-blooded.

The common room was still empty, and Ginny threw herself into one of the chairs by the fire, staring blindly into the embers. Now that the first rush of anger was leaving, her chest was aching with reaction. How could he be so...so..._blind_? How could he have come all this way and still think that he was so bloody superior to everyone else? How could he say those things to her—to_ her_!—as though it was perfectly acceptable for him to be a stuck-up, bigoted _prat_, to insult her friends and her family and her whole upbringing to her face?

Ginny tapped her fingers against the arm of the chair, too restless to sleep, too cautious of waking anyone up to pace or rage like she wanted to. She settled for kicking her heels against the chair legs, and spent a sleepless night by the fire. Zoë found her just before breakfast and tapped her lightly on the arm to shake her out of her light doze.

"Better get up before anyone else sees you," Zoë whispered. "The girls will be down soon, and Hermione."

Ginny nodded her thanks and ran upstairs to gather her books and change into fresh robes, racing back downstairs just in time to meet Ron, Hermione and Harry as they climbed out of the portrait.

"There you are!" Ron cried when he saw her. "We were about to send Hermione up to get you."

"No need," Ginny said, summoning up a smile. "Here I am."

Ron grinned, and Ginny couldn't help but grin back, following the three of them out the portrait hole and down to the Great Hall.

"Malfoy's not here," Ron said as they sat down, glancing significantly at Hermione. "Wonder where he's at."

"I don't know, and honestly, Ron, I don't care," Hermione retorted. "And could you please _stop_ with the constant updating of Malfoy's position? No one else cares either."

Ginny bit her lip and bent her head over her plate. _She_ cared, but she was determined not to show it. A small part of her was _glad_ he wasn't there; she was still angry, though it was all mixed up with a stomach-churning regret. She didn't really _want_ to be furious with him, but she couldn't stop remembering what he'd said, remembering the look on his face as he dismissed Hermione as unworthy just because she was Muggle-born.

Ginny crumbled a muffin into bits without eating a bite—for all his earlier concern, Ron didn't even notice—and gathered up her books at the end of the meal with a sick, sinking dread. They had Potions just before lunch, an entire hour of sitting in his classroom and having to watch him. She didn't know if she was more worried about his temper or her own. What if he said something? What if he _didn't_?

The morning's classes passed in a blur, and as much as Ginny dragged her feet on the way down to the dungeons, the moment she had been dreading came all too soon. Draco wasn't there, which was almost a let-down, after her morning of ceaseless worry. She set her books down on the bench in her usual place beside Sanjeet and rubbed absently at her hands as she looked around the classroom—she had been clutching her books so tightly they'd left ridges in her palms.

San cast her an odd glance but didn't comment, turning his attention to setting up his cauldron and laying out supplies. Ginny rubbed her hands nervously on her robes and followed suit, taking extra care so that she didn't drop anything and make this day a bigger mess than it already was.

Draco finally arrived ten minutes late, his expression black. He dropped his pile of books and papers on the desk and waved his wand irritably at the chalkboard. "Advanced Swelling Potions," he barked, as a list of ingredients and instructions appeared. "There are your instructions. Don't dawdle."

The students exchanged bewildered glances over their cauldrons; he usually gave at least _some_ instruction before setting them to work, but Draco only yanked his chair out and sat down at the desk without even looking at them. Ginny could hear Colin and Zoë whispering behind her as she sorted through her ingredients for what the potion called for, though she couldn't catch what they were talking about. It didn't matter though; the only thing that did was getting through the next forty minutes without making an utter mess of things.

She did it, too, a miraculous feat aided by the occasional whispered hint from Sanjeet, who never got flustered and was better at Potions than anyone else. At the end of class, Ginny had a perfectly prepared vial of Swelling Solution to present to Draco. She approached the desk half-hiding behind San, trying to plan out possible reactions in her head so that anything Draco did wouldn't take her by surprise and leave her flustered.

He didn't raise his eyes from his book when she handed over her vial.

Ginny walked back to her desk feeling worse than she had before, though she wasn't sure how that could be possible. He didn't even _look_ at her. She'd spent all morning in a fit of nervous, furious energy, and he hadn't even glanced at her once. She gathered up her books with quick, jerky movements, ignoring San's curious look as she stormed toward the door, head held high. Two could play that...if he wanted to ignore her, she would do the same.

*

That night, she had another nightmare.

This one was different. Instead of waking up to the soft red cocoon of her bed in the Gryffindor dormitory, she opened her eyes on a staircase halfway between the Great Hall and the tower. She was barefoot, without even a dressing gown against the night chill, unable to remember exactly how she had gotten there. She couldn't remember the whole of her dream, only that it had begun as her nightmares about Tom always did, and faded at some point into...something else. How she had got out of Gryffindor Tower, down the stairs, and past the Great Hall to the doors without even her Shadow cloak as protection from discovery, she didn't know.

Ginny took a deep breath, surprisingly calm in the face of the sheer strangeness of waking up outside of Gryffindor, and headed back up the stairs. It wasn't until she was safely in her own bed again, with her old protections cast around her and a light hovering at the top of her curtains, that she began to shake.

*

No one noticed her late-night escapade. Hermione was spending much of her time in Ron and Harry's room in the boys' dorms, having declared the common room too crowded for serious discussion, and Ron's only comment was that she looked somewhat peaky.

"I'm fine, Ron," Ginny said, "just tired." Which was absolutely true, though probably not for the reasons he might have thought.

Zoë was harder to fool. She caught up with Ginny outside the Great Hall and pulled her into the girls' loo, her small, earnest face concerned. "Are you sure it's just that you're tired?" she asked. "Because frankly, Ginny, you look like death warmed over today. It isn't anything more serious, is it?"

"No, it's not," Ginny insisted. "I'm just not sleeping well, and it's not like we haven't anything to worry about."

"I know, but I'm worried about you. Maybe you should go see Madam Pomfrey."

"That's not necessary," Ginny said. "She'd only give me a sleeping potion, and you know how I hate them." She _did _hate sleeping potions; all they did was ensure she couldn't wake up from her nightmares when she had them.

Zoë nodded, though she didn't look appeased. "Maybe you should talk to her anyway. You might be sick. You're looking awfully run down."

"It's nothing I won't live through," Ginny said with a wry smile. "It can't last forever, can it?"

"Ginny...." Zoë sighed and shook her head. "Just—I've told you enough that you can tell me anything. If you need to talk about things...if you're worried, or you want to vent, or anything."

To her own horror, Ginny's eyes prickled with tears. "I know, Zoë. And thank you. I know I've been a terrible friend lately...you're too patient with me."

Zoë smiled in return. "You haven't been a terrible friend. Not ever."

"Yes I have." Ginny gave a slightly watery laugh and reached out to wrap her arms around Zoë. "Thank you anyway," she said.

Zoë hugged her back, wiping at her own eyes as they pulled apart. "There. Now Colin will tease us both all morning about being silly girls."

"Not if we don't tell him," Ginny said, managing a laugh.

Zoë laughed too and pulled her off to the Great Hall for breakfast. Ginny let her, and had an enjoyable meal despite her inability to stop checking for Draco at every turn. She was still angry but she couldn't spend all her energy dwelling on it, nor on worrying that she didn't see him all day. They didn't have Potions, and he didn't show up for meals, but Ginny refused to fret about it.

Colin volunteered to help Ginny with her Arithmancy problems that evening, and they settled at a table in the common room with Zoë, San and Adrienne. Even schoolwork wasn't a respite from thinking about him...it had always been Draco who helped her with Arithmancy, and it was far more difficult to understand without his snippy but thorough explanations.

She was so deep into her work that she didn't even register Dennis Creevey's arrival until he mentioned Draco's name.

"Dunno what's got into Malfoy. Just about _everyone_ failed," he was saying to Colin, "so I suppose I oughtn't to feel that badly. But I worked really hard on that essay, and he thinks it's worth a fail? Even Snape wasn't _that_ mean."

Ginny looked up in surprise. Dennis was leaning against the table, showing a scroll to Colin. "That's so unfair!" Colin said. "He can't just fail you because he wants to! You should talk to Professor McGonagall about it. She'll do something."

Dennis frowned at his paper. "I don't know if it's even worth it. Like I said, everyone failed, or near as. Even the Slytherins." He grinned at that. "Which was pretty shocking for them, I bet."

That made the others laugh, but Ginny frowned at her scroll. Something was wrong with Draco, she was certain of it...he hadn't ever been quite so cruel before. Not to the students, anyway. Not in a way that might get him in trouble with Dumbledore—that sort of trouble was the last thing he wanted.

Ginny stomped down on the thread of worry that thought had birthed. She was angry, but she didn't want Draco to get in trouble—though it was really his own fault, for going 'round being even _more_ nasty to people. She bit her lip in frustration, jabbing her quill into the parchment. He had to learn that he couldn't just treat people that way, and that throwing tantrums wasn't going to make him right. He was being a big baby, really.

But when he didn't appear for breakfast for the third day in a row, Ginny's concern started to outweigh her anger. Potions loomed over her entire day, and by the time she followed Colin, Zoë and San into the dungeon at the end of the day she was half-frantic with concern.

She needn't have worried; Draco was there already, bent over a book at his desk. Ginny examined his face when he wasn't looking her way; his face was pale except for the delicate skin under his eyes, which was a deep, purplish blue. He looked exhausted.

Ginny bit her lip and looked down at her hands, feeling strangely guilty. Surely if he weren't sleeping well, it was partly her fault. But as the class filed in and settled down, his worn look was replaced by a fierce scowl. He stood up and folded his arms over his chest, glaring around the room until everyone had quieted—Dumbledore must have spoken to him about his classes, for he seemed actively ready to teach today, and not just let them fend for themselves as he had last class.

"We are making anti-carcinogenic potions today," Draco said. "This is an advanced healing potion and some of the ingredients require a great deal of care when handling." He swept the classroom with a cool glance and drew his wand, pointing it at the board. The potion recipe appeared there and Ginny heard San whistle under his breath as they read it through.

It was more complex than anything he had assigned them before, and Ginny didn't even recognize half the ingredients. Draco levitated a large box onto his desk and began moving through the desks, setting individual glass bottles of a deep green liquid in front of each of them as he spoke. "Actinonin, which you won't be familiar with, is very acidic, and particularly dangerous. It's also expensive. Don't spill any."

His eyes flickered to Ginny as he passed by her chair, and she swallowed hard. He seemed thinner, too, which perhaps wasn't surprising, since he hadn't been to a meal in the Great Hall since their argument. That only made her feel worse; that was her fault too, and she wasn't sure how to make it right.

Maybe she should just go and talk to him tonight. She'd calmed down considerably since their argument, and she _did_ miss him; surely he'd be willing to talk to her too. She watched out of the corner of her eye as he moved around the room. He really did look thinner, and he seemed...older, as though their three days apart had aged him. Or perhaps the events of the last few months were finally showing. Dumbledore was working him far too hard, between classes and the Ministry's demands; it was enough to tire anyone.

Ginny absently measured out the first of her ingredients, splitting her attention between her cauldron and Draco's progress through the room. Once he'd handed out all the bottles and did a cursory check of their progress, he moved back to his desk.

Then he turned, and suddenly they were looking at each other.

For the briefest of moments, the guarded look left his eyes and she could _see_ his weariness, his loneliness. He was looking at her the way he used to when they were alone, as though she was the only thing in the world. Then he blinked, and the cool mask was back in place, so quickly that Ginny almost thought she had imagined it.

She quickly dropped her eyes back to her potion, flustered; it was hard enough to concentrate when she _wasn't_ worrying, never mind when she was worrying and he was watching her do it. She grabbed for her container of Ashwinder eggs without looking, and her arm brushed the small bottle of actinonin. It fell, almost in slow motion, and Ginny watched in horrified fascination as it rolled gracefully toward the edge of her desk and off.

It shattered in a spectacular fashion, spraying glass shards across the flagstones. Tiny wisps of smoke began to appear where some of the droplets had hit the wooden desks. Ginny swallowed hard and bent down without considering, thinking to pick up some of the shards of glass and move them before someone stepped on one. But a long-fingered hand closed around her wrist, and Draco yanked her to her feet, his face bloodless with fury.

"Don't _touch_ it," he snapped. "It's _acidic_. Which you would _know_ had you been listening. Ten points from Gryffindor, since you were obviously not paying attention, and a further ten for being incapable of following directions. Be grateful I don't take points for your clumsiness."

Ginny gaped at him in shock as he dropped her wrist and drew his wand. "_Scourgify_," he muttered, and the broken glass and spilled actinonin was cleared away.

Her cheeks were burning with mortification and rage. Draco caught her gaze and held it a moment, his eyes hard as granite. She dropped her eyes first, biting her lip so hard she nearly drew blood to stop herself from shouting something regrettable at him. She reached for her bottle of newt livers with a shaking hand, determined not to look up.

Draco turned away, and he must have looked fearsome, for the class was silent, the only noise the soft clicking of ladles against cauldron sides as the rest of the students bent to their work. Ginny could feel Zoë and Colin watching her, and San's silent, comforting presence beside her—he carefully measured a portion of actinonin into a cup and slid it toward her without a word. She looked up and nodded her thanks, pouring the thick liquid into her cauldron with shaking hands.

Her hands were still trembling slightly at the end of class, and it took all her courage to gather up her vial and take it up to Draco for marking.

He didn't look at her as he took it, didn't touch her fingers with his as he normally would have, didn't acknowledge her presence at all as he made a note on the side of the bottle and stowed it with the rest.

Thankfully, Potions was their last class of the day, and somehow Ginny managed to make it back to Gryffindor and into her dorm without breaking down. She drew her curtains around her bed and lay down, finally allowing her tears to escape now that no one was there to see her cry. Seven years of living with two of the nosiest girls in Hogwarts had taught her how to do it quietly; only the occasional soft sniffle would give her away.

Particularly to someone who was listening for it. Ginny's curtains shifted and parted, and Zoë slipped between them to sit on the end of her narrow bed. She rested a hand gently on Ginny's leg, her eyebrows raised. Ginny tried on a smile, but couldn't quite manage it.

"Oh," Zoë said softly. "Oh, Ginny." She stood up and vanished through the curtains, returning a moment later with a handkerchief, which Ginny took gratefully, wiping at her cheeks and nose.

Ginny sat up with her back against her headboard, and Zoë curled up in front of her drawn-up knees, examining Ginny with kind eyes. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I can't," Ginny whispered. "It's too—I just can't."

Zoë nodded and reached out to pat her leg, but even that small, kind gesture was too much. Ginny felt her face crumpling again, and dropped her head forward onto her knees, biting her lip to keep from sobbing aloud. Everything was ruined and she couldn't even _tell_ anyone.

"I did tell you you could tell me anything, didn't I?" Zoë said gently. "Is it just because of what Malfoy said to you in Potions? Because he's a prat."

"It's not that. Not just that," Ginny said. "It's...it's...I lied. About the boyfriend thing. To Ron, and to my parents, and to you and Colin, and _everyone_. I do have one—sort of. I did. We had a fight, and I don't even know anymore. And I couldn't say anything because he's—it's too..." Ginny trailed off, shaking her head. "I don't even know where to start."

"Start at the beginning," Zoë suggested with a small smile. "Who is it? Surely it isn't someone terrible enough to warrant being this upset."

Ginny glanced up at her friend's kind, earnest face and bit her lip. "It _is_. Oh, Zoë, you have no idea."

"Then tell me. Mum always says, pain shared is pain halved," Zoë replied, "and whoever he is, he seems to be causing you a fair amount."

"You have no idea," Ginny repeated. She picked at her coverlet in an agony of indecision. She could tell. Just come out with it, tell Zoë, who would say something sensible, and then they could laugh about it, and maybe she'd feel a little less like her world was ending. She looked up again, into Zoë's solemn eyes, and made a decision. "You have to promise me you won't tell anyone this. Not the other girls, not Hermione or Ron, and not Colin."

Zoë's eyes widened, but she nodded. "I promise. I won't tell a soul."

"Swear it."

"Really, Ginny, I don't think—"

"Swear you won't tell," Ginny insisted. She trusted Zoë, but this was too important to leave to mere trust.

"All right. I swear that whatever you tell me won't leave this bed," Zoë said, her tone indulgent. "Though you might want to put up a silencing charm so the girls don't come up and hear, if it's that serious."

That wasn't a bad idea; Ginny dug out her wand and cast one on her curtains, ignoring Zoë's surprised look. "All right," she said when it was done. "I've been—"

And she faltered. She couldn't do it. She couldn't tell, not even to relieve the crushing pain she felt. Even when he made her so angry she could barely breathe, she couldn't bring herself to risk his safety.

Zoë waited expectantly for a moment, and when Ginny didn't reply she let out a small sigh of exasperation. "Just _tell me_. You can't go to all the trouble of making me swear I won't tell and then not say."

Ginny nodded miserably. Surely it couldn't _get_ any worse. She bit her lip, took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "Draco," she said quietly. "I've been...seeing Draco."

After several long, silent moments Ginny opened her eyes. Zoë hadn't moved at all; she was staring at Ginny, her face utterly blank. Ginny swallowed nervously. This wasn't quite the reaction she'd been hoping for.

"Draco Malfoy," Zoë said flatly.

Ginny nodded.

"You've been miserable for days because of Draco_ Malfoy_?"

Ginny nodded again.

Zoë took a deep breath, then another. "Are you out of your mind?" she asked, her voice very calm.

"I—" Ginny's breath caught on an unexpected sob. "I don't know."

"Are you sleeping with him?" Zoë asked, in the same calm voice.

She nodded miserably. "Since the summer."

Zoë raised her eyebrows and frowned. She looked for a moment like she was going to yell, but she inhaled deeply again and stared at the curtains. "Are you pregnant?" she asked finally.

"No!" Ginny burst out, then cringed at the loudness of her outburst. "No, I've been taking pregnancy potions. I'm not totally without sense, you know."

Zoë didn't say anything, but her expression spoke volumes.

"Well, I'm _not!_ I never intended it to happen this way, all right?"

"How _did_ it happen?" Zoë asked. "I mean, the last you ever told me, you were still half-falling for that Ravenclaw bloke. Michael whoever. How on earth did you end up in bed with _Malfoy_?"

Ginny sighed miserably and let her head drop to her knees again. "It's a long story."

"Well," Zoë said, and moved up to settle her own back against Ginny's headboard, so that they were shoulder to shoulder. "Dinner isn't for another hour, so we've got time. And I'd very much like to hear it. _Malfoy_," she said again. "I just don't..._Malfoy_."

"All right," Ginny said, and began as she had with Dumbledore and Snape at the beginning of the year—his rescuing her from her boggart, the strange interest Draco had taken in Tom Riddle, his cornering her in the DADA classroom, their first hesitant kiss, all the odd encounters, his appearance at her house over the summer, their clandestine meetings during the school year.

Zoë listened to it all with a small frown, though she seemed less angry than bewildered. Ginny finished by relating the fight they'd had earlier that week.

"How can he think things like that?" she said, some of her earlier anger colouring her voice. "How can he _say_ things like that, and actually believe them? And be so...so..."

"What did you think he'd say?" Zoë asked, and squeezed her hand gently. "I mean, he is who he is. That hasn't changed, has it? Were you expecting him to be Harry?"

"No," Ginny said softly. Which was true...she didn't expect him to be like Harry. She'd never wanted him to be Harry.

She'd wanted him to be Tom.

Ginny let her head drop back to her knees, half-sickened by the thought. What was _wrong_ with her? She didn't want _anyone_ to be like Tom, particularly not the boy she was supposed to like. Although really, Draco wasn't much like him—they shared a sort of impenetrable arrogance and a belief that the world owed them. But for all his conceit, Draco didn't have Tom's need to dominate. Certainly he was selfish, he liked having things his own way and he could be cruel, as she well knew, but he wasn't evil.

"It's actually rather romantic," Zoë said after a moment. "Not the fighting, of course, or calling Hermione names, but the rest of it. Him defying his father and coming to Hogwarts for you."

"He didn't do it for me," Ginny protested. "I mean, I suggested it, but it isn't as though he decided to come here because I'm here or something. I'm sure he would have anyway, even if we hadn't been... I mean, he didn't have anywhere else _to_ go."

"Hmmm," Zoë said thoughtfully. "I suppose you're right. But Colin's lost ten Galleons, and it's too bad I can't tell him. He was sure Malfoy was here to spy on us. He had a bet on with Zach Smith."

"Oh, please," Ginny said. "That had nothing to do with Draco coming here. He's only here because he found out that You-Know-Who is part Muggle and he couldn't bear to follow him." She snorted suddenly. "Oh, God, I didn't even think of that. The only reason Draco isn't a Death Eater is because he's too much of a _snob_."

Zoë snickered, then covered her mouth with her hand guiltily. Ginny caught her eye and grinned. In a moment they were both convulsed with giggles, hands clapped over their mouths to keep the noise down.

"Oh, Zoë, what am I going to do?" she said, after their laughter had died. "He's a prat, he's a terrible snob, everything he believes in is the exact opposite of what I was raised to think, my father loathes his father, and everyone in Gryffindor knows what Ron's opinion of him is. He's the absolute _worst_ person I could even think of being involved with. But...."

"But?" Zoë prompted.

"But I can't—I can't stand this. I don't know...I don't want it to be over, but I don't know what else to do. I can't just let him say things like that about Hermione, can I? Or about you, or Colin, or anyone else we know who's Muggle born." Ginny picked at her coverlet miserably. "But I miss him so much, and it's so hard...I just don't know."

"It sounds like you really care about him," Zoë said softly.

"I do," she whispered, staring blindly at her curtains. She more than cared...she loved him.

His frustrating superiority when he knew things she didn't, the shy, sweet smile she only ever caught out of the corner of her eye when they were alone, the way he dismissed things he didn't care for with a haughty toss of his head. The long, clean lines of his body, the pale marble sheen of his skin. The way he kissed her, the way he narrowed his attention to her as though she were the only thing in the world that mattered.

Zoë cleared her throat uncomfortably. "Well, of all the people you might have picked, I think he's the worst one. Not that I'm saying he's a terrible person," she said quickly when  
Ginny raised her head, "because if you do love him he must have _some_ redeeming qualities. But he _is_ a bit of a prat, you have to admit."

"Yes, I know he's a prat," Ginny said grudgingly. "But he isn't like that with me. Usually."

Zoë raised her eyebrows. "You can say that, even after what he did in class today?"

"He only did it because he's angry with me," Ginny said defensively. "And he _is_ under an awful lot of pressure right now—"

"Don't make excuses for him!" Zoë exclaimed. "If he'd done it to Colin or to me, you'd be furious with him, wouldn't you?"

"Probably," Ginny mumbled.

"So don't talk like he's done you some big favour by taking points because of an accident." Zoë shook her head in disgust. "You didn't deserve that."

"I know," Ginny said. "And I'm not trying to make excuses, really. It's just...it's hard, all right? Seeing him in class and not being able to actually talk to him."

"Which is a whole other problem," Zoë pointed out. "He's a _teacher. _What would Dumbledore say, if he knew Malfoy were sleeping with a student?"

"He'd say that if he knew about it, he'd have to do something, but as long as no one else knows then it's all right," Ginny said, and smiled at Zoë's shocked expression. "Snape found out at the beginning of the year and told on us."

"And what would you have done if he'd said it wasn't all right? If he'd thrown you out of school?"

"I don't know," Ginny muttered. "I hadn't really thought about it."

"Have you thought about _anything_?" Zoë asked incredulously. "What are you going to do at the end of the school year? What are you going to do when your parents find out? Or Ron? Never mind Colin, or Harry and Hermione, or the rest of your brothers...and you said yourself his father's siding with You-Know-Who. What do all of _his_ friends think of him? And what will they think of you?"

"I don't _know_," Ginny said, with a glance at her friend. Zoë looked ready to go on at length about all the reasons why Draco was horribly wrong for her. Truth be told, Ginny hadn't given much thought to what would happen when she left Hogwarts and she and Draco were both free.

If they were even still together then. If either of them still wanted to be together, after this.

"Are you planning to decide sometime soon?" Zoë asked. "Because really...we've only got two months of school left. And there's the war, of course, but you won't be at Hogwarts forever."

"I suppose it'd depend on if he ever wants to speak to me again," Ginny said morosely. She heaved a sigh and slumped against her headboard. "If I ever manage to get out of the Tower again to go see him."

Zoë's expression softened. "Well, if it's really important to you, I suppose you'll find a way. You usually do."

"Usually," Ginny agreed, picking at her coverlet. It _was_ important to her...now she just had to find out if it were important to Draco as well.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Actinonin is a natural hydroxamic acid antibiotic and a peptide deformylase inhibitor. Apparently it kills plants, and is useful for inhibiting E. coli growth. However, that that actually means, I haven't a clue, since I am not a biochemist. Any biochemists in the crowd want to email me and explain it? It is probably not as acidic as I am claiming. Heck, it's probably not even a liquid. I'm taking vast artistic licenses here. If you are a biochemist and I'm totally out in left field...I'm sorry! I'm an accountant! I don't know these things!


	9. Chapter 9

~*~

Draco waited until all the students had left the classroom before he raised his head to look out over the benches. Ginny was long gone—he had known she would be, but it didn't stop the ache in his chest. She'd been terribly careless today, nearly injuring herself in class with inattention after he'd _warned_ her...he had covered up his panic with fury, which wasn't difficult, considering he _had_ been furious. She should have known better.

He thumped his hand on the desk and stood up, shoving his chair back. He gathered up his books and the collection of essays and vials from the day's classes and retreated to Snape's workroom. He had a whole host of advanced potions to prepare, and he was planning to simply drown himself in work. As much work as it took, to forget about the past few days, or this afternoon and how Ginny had looked at him. She hated him now, that much was terribly clear—now that she knew he wasn't who she wanted him to be, now that he'd proven himself too like his father for her, she wanted nothing to do with him.

Draco tried to push it to the back of his mind and turned his attention to his latest batch of Wolfsbane potion, which was currently simmering in one of the smaller cauldrons on the bench. He'd told Dumbledore he'd look into it, and had begun experimenting with Snape's recipe and notes earlier in the month. So far he hadn't managed to produce a successful potion, but he felt obligated to keep trying. It made a convenient excuse for avoiding the Great Hall at meals, where he'd have to watch Ginny sit in the protective circle of her friends and avoided looking at him. And after all, what else did he have to do?

Except brood. And stare at the walls. And remember her voice ringing in his ears. _How can you think that?_

_Because that's the way things _are, he thought savagely, giving the potion in the cauldron a particularly vicious stir. _Because that's just how things are. That's what I've always believed. That's what I've always been told._

Told by his father, who hadn't really believed it himself, and who had disowned Draco for being unable to bend his ideals enough to bow before someone with Muggle blood.

Draco sighed and slumped against the table. He had no idea what to believe anymore. Because really, if he accepted what Ginny said, about Muggles being equal and pure blood meaning nothing, then what difference did it make if he sided with You-Know-Who? Except that You-Know-Who wasn't just a mudblood, he was also some sort of inhuman _thing_, and Draco still wasn't about to go groveling for scraps before some power-hungry creature.

He crumbled some monkshood into his cauldron, watching as the mixture turned from blue to a sort of dull brown, and sighed unhappily. How was he supposed to decide these sorts of things? How was he supposed to choose between his beliefs and the only person he depended on? How was he supposed to know what was right?

Why did his life have to be so _hard?_

A knock at the workroom's door interrupted his thoughts. Draco looked up as the door opened, his spirits sinking even further as Dumbledore entered, looking thoughtful as ever. Draco had been called to the old man's office yesterday for a stern lecture on marking down the students, and Draco sincerely hoped that he wasn't going to get a second one. The first still stung—though if he were being honest, he probably shouldn't have given all the fifth years failing grades on their essays—but he hadn't done anything today to warrant it. Besides taking points from Ginny, but there'd been reasons for that.

The expected lecture didn't materialize. Dumbledore only looked at him seriously. "I trust today's classes went better?" His tone was neutral, but Draco knew that he was thinking of the muck-up Draco had made earlier in the week.

"Yes, sir," he muttered. Dumbledore had made his way around the side of the table, and Draco could feel the weight of his gaze. He refused to look up, to be drawn into the conversation the old man seemed to want.

After a moment, Dumbledore cleared his throat pointedly. "And how are things in general?" he asked.

"They're fine," Draco replied tautly, without looking up. They weren't, but the idea of having some sort of conversation with the old man about how he had made a spectacular mess of the only worthwhile relationship he'd ever had didn't appeal.

"I realize this must be difficult for you," Dumbledore said softly. "To have been forced into this position against your will. I don't want you to think that you need isolate yourself further out of a desire to avoid others."

Draco risked a glance at the old man. Did he think this was about _Potter_? That he was being scared away from the rest of the castle by Scarhead and his little band of freaks? "I'm not avoiding anyone," he muttered.

It was funny how Dumbledore could stand there and sort of exude disbelief.

"I'm _not_," Draco repeated, willing the man to just _go away_. He didn't want to talk about it.

"Then you'll join us in the Great Hall for dinner?" Dumbledore asked mildly. "Surely it would be preferable to staying here."

Draco shrugged and gestured around the workroom. "I have things to do."

For the first time, Dumbledore actually looked frustrated. "Let me say again that this sort of devotion to duty, while admirable, isn't entirely necessary. You do have to eat, Draco, and if there is any reason you feel uncomfortable dining in the Great Hall, you must tell me. I am still in charge at this school, and I will try to ensure that everyone under my care is made to feel welcome."

"There's nothing wrong." This time, Draco kept his head down, and finally Dumbledore took the hint and left, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Draco stirred the Wolfsbane potion slowly, staring into the murky liquid as though it could give him answers. He probably could have talked to Dumbledore about his fight with Ginny, but he already knew what the old man would say. Blood didn't matter; breeding didn't matter; all that mattered was action. He'd certainly heard it enough, over his years as a student.

The truth was, there wasn't anyone who could decide for him, and he literally had no idea what to do. When it came down to it, all he really wanted was for Ginny to stop being angry with him, and if it meant adjusting his view of Muggles a bit, then it would almost be easier just to do it. After all, _she_ was a pureblood, and that was the important thing.

Not that any of it mattered, if she wouldn't talk to him anymore.

With another heavy sigh, Draco got back to the business of potion-making, immersing himself in the work until he was too tired to continue. He went back to his rooms and readied himself for bed, only to lie there in the dark and examine the stones of the walls, pretending he didn't feel as terrible as he actually did. If he fell asleep, he'd only dream of her, or have nightmares in which he relived their fight again and again. Staying awake was preferable to _that_. Draco sighed loudly and rolled onto his side, to stare at the shadowy wall beside his bed, his eyes following the familiar lines of the stones in the dim light.

The sound of his door opening was very loud in the quiet room.

Draco sat up straight, shivering in the cool dungeon air as his sheets fell away. The door swung shut again, and he could hear someone else's breathing. He scrambled for his wand, heart pounding. His fingers just closed on the cool wood when a soft voice whispered, "_Lumos_" and a tiny beam of light appeared from the tip of his intruder's wand.

"It's me," Ginny said, her voice trembling. "Don't—it's me."

"_Ginny_?" His heart wanted to leap and fall at the same time. She'd _come_. She had actually come to see him. Draco waved his wand at his bedside lamp, setting a warm golden glow over the room. "What are you _doing_ here?"

"I—I don't know," she whispered. She took a few short steps forward; her face was white in the lamplight. She was wearing a plain cotton nightdress, with her feet bare and her hair spread over her shoulders in a tangled red wave.

Something here was very wrong.

Draco threw back his covers and climbed out of bed, crossing quickly to where she stood. "What's going on?" he asked in alarm. "You shouldn't be out...and you don't even have your shadow cloak. How did you _get_ here?"

"I don't know," Ginny repeated. She was trembling fiercely, her fingers twisting together. She wouldn't look at him. "I was sleeping, and then I woke up, and I was standing in the middle of the entrance hall and I didn't know what to do. I thought—I thought—"

"Shhhh. Come here." Draco grasped her hands and pulled them apart, stilling their restless movement. Her fingers were like ice, her skin chalk-white, her freckles standing out darkly against the pallor of her skin. Draco pulled her to the edge of his bed, not knowing what else to do, and sat her down on the edge. He knelt in front of her, his hands still wrapped around hers.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, and a tear slipped down one white cheek. "I'm just...I shouldn't have...I'm sorry."

"Don't," Draco said, rubbing her hands gently. "It's all right. What happened?"

"I don't _know_," Ginny said, her voice breaking on the last word. She bit her lower lip and took a deep breath. "I woke up, like I said, and I was standing in the middle of the entrance hall, facing the doors. And I don't know how I got there, or what I was doing, or _anything_."

"Were you sleepwalking?" Draco asked. It seemed like the logical explanation, but Ginny shook her head violently.

"I don't sleepwalk. I never have. And it wasn't a dream either," she said, her voice suddenly sharp. "I wasn't dreaming. I mean, I've been having nightmares, but it wasn't like that. It wasn't _me_. It was like someone was _using_ me, like I was..."

"All right," Draco said, as her voice trailed off again. He rose and sat beside her on the bed, wrapping one arm around her shoulders. "If you say you weren't dreaming, then you weren't."

"I _wasn't_," Ginny said fiercely. "It was like the last time—I'd wake up sometimes in odd places, and not know how I got there, or find myself covered with feathers and blood, or paint...but then it was Tom. I would write to him, and he would step inside my head, without me even knowing he could. But it can't be him, he's _gone_, Harry destroyed the diary, and he can't still be—" she bit back a sob and curled toward him, burying her face in his shoulder. "He's _gone_. He has to be."

"I'm sure he is," Draco said softly. He rocked her gently, one hand smoothing her hair. He was trying to ignore the effect she was having on him, fighting his body's reaction to her nearness. She wouldn't welcome any advances right now, least of all from him, and he was selfish enough to want her to stay with him as long as he could keep her. Even if she hadn't come to make it up with him, at least she was _here_.

Ginny shuddered and clung tighter. He could feel her tears wetting his shoulder, though she was struggling not to cry. He held her close and whispered soothing nonsense until her breathing calmed. When she stiffened, he reluctantly let his arms drop, and she slid away, wiping at her face with her hand. "I'm sorry," she said again. "I didn't mean to—"

"It's all right," Draco said quickly. Ginny dropped her eyes and sniffled, and Draco got up abruptly, going to his wardrobe and rummaging through his robes until he found a handkerchief. He tried to gather his thoughts but it was difficult, with her sitting there and looking extremely uncomfortable. "Here," he said, and thrust the cloth at her.

"Thanks," she said, crumpling it in her fist. She had drawn her legs up under her with her nightgown tucked over her feet, and was plucking at a loose thread in her hem, snuffling occasionally.

Draco hovered for a moment, feeling like an idiot, then gritted his teeth and sat back down on the bed, leaving a foot or so between them. It was _his_ room, after all. Ginny glanced sideways at him and shifted so that she was facing him, though she kept her head turned away, as if she didn't want to look at him.

It _hurt_.

They sat for a little while, the silence between them punctuated by the odd sniffle from Ginny. Draco stared at his bedspread miserably, wishing he could think of something to say that would break the awful silence.

In the end, Ginny did it for him. "I am sorry," she said softly. "I probably shouldn't have come here. I just...I wasn't thinking. I'm sure you'd rather I left."

"No!" Draco snapped his head up to stare at her. "I mean—I—I 'm glad you did," he finished helplessly. There was so much he wanted to say, and no way he would ever find the words. He was sorry, he missed her, he wanted her to come back, he wanted to stop fighting, he wished he could take back the words he'd said and bring everything back to how it had been.

Ginny watched him, her eyes a strange golden brown in the lamplight, her expression unreadable. "I'm still angry with you, you know," she said.

Draco spread his hands, feeling even more helpless. "Look," he began, "I didn't mean—"

"Yes you did," Ginny interrupted. "You meant it. And I understand that, really. Because you were taught to think it, and it isn't as if anyone's ever told you different. So maybe I was expecting too much of you. But it's not right to talk about people as if they're somehow less worthy for something that they can't even control."

Draco processed that for a moment. "I don't know what you want me to say," he said finally. "I don't—I can't—" He stood up abruptly, needing to _move_, to escape from under her eyes for a moment. He paced toward his desk, clenching his fists. When he turned back, she was still looking at him with that serene, indecipherable expression, and he still had no idea what to say.

But he had to try. "I just—maybe I'm wrong, and proper bloodlines don't really matter as much as everyone says they do. I don't know." He sighed in defeat. "I don't know what I think anymore. I don't know if it's right, or wrong, or _anything_. All I know is that I miss you." His voice had dropped to a whisper by the end, as he fought with his pride to get the words out.

"All right," Ginny said slowly. "I can't ask you to change how you think for me. Just don't _say_ it. Not to me. I'm not going to change my friends, and I'm not going to just sit by while you say terrible things about them. And I'm not going to change my own opinions to make _you_ feel better either." She tilted her head up and met his eyes, her expression stern. "And you're going to have to be civil to my family."

Draco barely dared breathe. It wasn't exactly an apology, but to be perfectly honest, she didn't really have anything to apologize for. "Even Ron?" he asked, and as he hoped, she smiled ever so slightly.

"Even Ron." Her mouth tilted up further, her eyes dancing. "But if he's not nice back, you can hex him. That's only fair."

Draco smiled back, his heart lifting. "I suppose it is."

Ginny's smile faded from her lips, but it shone in her eyes as she raised her hand toward him. "Come here," she said softly, and he went, settling next to her on the rumpled sheets.

She twined her fingers in his, her dark eyes searching his face. Draco didn't know what she was looking for, only that she must have found it, for she raised a hand to his cheek and pulled him forward. Their lips met, and it was everything he wanted—her soft lips parting under his, the silken slide of her tongue, the taste and feel and scent of her wrapping around him.

Ginny pulled away first, resting her head against his neck with a small sigh as she relaxed against him. Draco gathered her close, fitting her into the curve of his chest and wrapping his arms around her. He closed his eyes and leaned back against his headboard, reveling in the comforting weight of her body against his. He kissed her forehead, and her hair, smoothing it away from her face as she nestled her head against his shoulder.

"Can we just—can we stay?" she whispered, "Like this? For a little while. Just—like this."

"Of course," Draco whispered back, and pressed another kiss into her mussed curls. "Anything you want."

~*~

_Anything you want._

What she wanted, more than anything, was to stay wrapped in his arms with his chest rising and falling beneath her cheek and his arms around her, and never have to move or sleep or dream again.

But it couldn't be, and she knew it.

Draco walked her back up to the Tower, to make sure she'd have no trouble if she ran into Filch, but they didn't encounter anyone on the way. She stopped just out of sight of the Fat Lady to kiss him, twisting her hands in his robes to hold him close, unwilling to let go of his warmth.

"You need to go," Draco whispered reluctantly as they parted, his hand rubbing in small, distracting circles on her back.

"I know," she said softly. She pulled away and looked up at him, trying to imprint him on her mind, the expression he wore, the taste and feel and scent of him. "I'll come back when I can. If...if you want."

"_Yes_," he said fiercely, and louder than he probably meant to. He leaned down to kiss her again, quick and hard. "I want you to."

"Then I will." Ginny took a deep breath, forcing her hands to release his robes, forcing herself to step away, to leave the comfort of his presence. "When—when I'm able."

Draco nodded slowly and backed away as she walked quickly toward the portrait hole and whispered the password to the Fat Lady. She waved at him one last time from behind the frame, and crawled through the portrait hole into the dark common room.

The room was mercifully empty, and Ginny made her way up the stairs and back to her own bed. She knew she wouldn't sleep again tonight; she was too shaken by her dreams and her meeting with Draco to settle enough for it. To pass the hours until morning, she pulled her DADA textbook out of her bag and settled down to study, whispering spells under her breath as she read.

*

Despite her promise, it was proving next to impossible to escape her friends and slip away from the Tower. Ron, Harry and Hermione were up in the common room at all hours, talking softly amongst themselves, and Ginny couldn't get past them awake, never mind asleep. Ginny gave up after the third aborted attempt to leave the Tower, and settled for sending Draco an apologetic note with her latest assignment. He didn't look pleased, but he was coming to the Great Hall for meals again, which was an improvement.

Their relationship still seemed terribly fragile, the peace they'd made a delicate thing that might break at any moment. The situation outside Hogwarts didn't help; with the school year drawing to a close and tales of the war outside escalating with every passing week it would look suspicious if she didn't spend her time in the common room, or with Colin and Zoë.

"I can't believe they're still planning to make us write NEWTs," Colin said one evening, glaring down at the parchment he was writing on. "I mean, really. Don't we get some sort of dispensation because we're at war?"

"Don't be silly. They didn't last year," Zoë said. "And anyway, there's no guarantee that there will even be a battle. You just don't want to sit for them."

"I don't want to sit for them because I'm going to fail," Colin grumbled. "I'm going to fail, and then I'll never get a good job, and I'll have to slink back to my parents in shame and live in their basement and never do magic ever again." He flopped across his papers dramatically, rolling his head toward Zoë and Ginny. "I'll have to go work in a chip shop and the only news I'll ever see is what I wrap fish up in. And it'll be all Dumbledore's fault."

"I don't even know why you're complaining," Ginny said. "You're only sitting for three."

"Four. DADA, Muggle Studies, History of Magic, and Potions." Colin levered himself back up with a groan. "Though I still don't see what Potions has to do with being a reporter. Seems like a really silly requirement to me."

"For picture development," Zoë supplied.

Colin snorted. "I suppose. Though I doubt we'll even be prepared for Potions...who knows if Malfoy's teaching us what'll actually be on our tests."

"He's using Snape's lesson plans, so he's teaching exactly the same thing Snape would have," Ginny said, and jumped as Zoë kicked her in the ankle and shot her a dire look. "I  
mean...I assume he is."

Colin raised his eyebrows at both of them. "You're being awfully defensive of the git," he said to Ginny.

"Maybe I just don't think he's out to get us," she said defensively. "He hasn't shown any signs of it, has he?"

"No...but considering how mean he's been to you lately, I'm wondering about your attitude there," Colin replied. "Since when are you so fond of him?"

"I'm just saying, I don't think he's evil, that's all." Ginny shrugged and flipped a page in her DADA textbook. "Should I assume the worst about everyone because you want to?"

"No, but I don't see how you can be so blasé about all this, when he hasn't exactly been kind to you—ow! Zoë, did you just kick me?"

Zoë shrugged innocently and leaned over to grab her Transfiguration book from the stack in the middle of the table. "How's your essay for History of Magic coming?"

"You did kick me! What was that for?" Colin demanded in outrage.

"I did no such thing, and really, Colin, keep it down. People are trying to study."

"Well you didn't need to boot me in the knee!"

Ginny grinned and bent her head to her paper as Colin muttered at Zoë, distracted. Which was no doubt what she had intended; a few moments later Ginny took the opportunity to gather up her things and head upstairs to the dorm, where she could draw the curtains around her bed and study in quiet. She heard Adrienne and Shelley come up a little while later, and Zoë not long after that.

Her curtains parted and Zoë poked her head in. "How are you?" she asked.

"I'm fine," Ginny replied with a smile. "Just studying like mad."

"I just wanted to make sure Colin didn't bother you," she said, then lowered her voice. "I haven't told him."

"I know you wouldn't," Ginny replied. "I'm not worried about that. And I'm not worried about Colin, either. He's just being himself."

Zoë smiled. "Good. I didn't think you would be but..."

"Yeah. And thank you," Ginny said. "For stopping him."

Zoë nodded, her smile widening. "That's what friends are for," she said, and let the curtains drop closed again.

Ginny let her own smile fade and slumped back on her bed with a sigh, her DADA textbook spread open on her chest. She wanted to see Draco, wanted to get out of the Tower so badly she thought she'd burst with frustrated tension. She was sick of studying, sick of having to spend time with her friends when the one person she wanted to spend time with might as well be in the Sahara. Their one brief meeting hadn't really solved anything, but there was no way _to_ decide anything about what they would do after the war was over and she'd left Hogwarts without talking to Draco.

Which she couldn't do.

Ginny sighed again and rolled onto her side, letting her book slide off her chest as she curled around her pillow. She could hear the other girls settling to sleep and let her own eyes fall closed, her mind a jumble of disjointed thoughts.

*

She was dreaming.

She was dreaming, and knew it was a dream, because she'd had the same dream so many times before. They were in her dormitory and he was talking to her, whispering in her ear, his voice soft and deep. He was asking her to do something, to go somewhere, but she didn't want to move. She didn't want to leave her room, the warm cocoon of her bed. There was a reason that she shouldn't listen to him, but she couldn't remember now exactly what that reason was. Wasn't he her friend, her _best_ friend?

_I would never hurt you, Ginny._

"I know."

_And I wouldn't ask you to do anything you couldn't do._

"Yes, I know."

_It's so simple. All you have to do is get up. Just get up, and walk down to the entrance hall. You can do that for me, can't you?_

"Of course."

And it was a simple thing, so simple that the trip to the entrance hall barely registered. And why would it? She was dreaming, and the nagging feeling that she shouldn't be doing this was fading as she moved. She could hear his voice as though he were standing right behind her, whispering in her ear, and it was the easiest thing in the world to open the great doors of the hall and step out into the pre-dawn chill. Somehow she had shoes, though she didn't remember stopping to put them on. But dreams didn't have to make sense.

_Now walk to the gates, Ginny. You can do that, can't you? You're so strong, so brave. I have always admired that about you, you know. You're such a brave little girl._

Ginny frowned a little at that. She wasn't a little girl anymore, and he of all people should know that. He was her best friend, and she told him everything—he had to know that she wasn't a child anymore. But the thought quickly faded as she moved down the steps and onto the path that led around the lake and toward the Hogwarts gates. It was a very pleasant morning, with the rising sun just beginning to peek through the mist that shrouded the grounds, the sky lightening to blue above her.

The walk didn't take long, and Ginny stopped again, not far from the huge gatehouse that guarded the castle grounds. There was something about the gate, something she wasn't supposed to do...it was hard to think properly about it, as though her head was crowded with thoughts that weren't her own.

_Open the gate, Ginny. You've come all this way, and I'm so proud of you. Just do this last thing for me._

"But..."

_Come, Ginny. I'll give you everything you ever wanted. Just open the gate._

"Everything I've—"

_I'll give you Harry._

Harry. The thought thrilled her, a happy, familiar little shiver, like she used to get whenever she heard his name, or wrote about him in her diary. She'd felt like that about him for so long, and now he was being offered to her. Everything she had ever wanted.

She paused, caught even in her dream by the _wrongness_ of that thought. Harry wasn't everything she wanted. Not anymore. Not for a long time.

Ginny opened her eyes.

She was standing on the grounds, not ten feet from the castle gates. The Aurors who had been standing guard were sprawled on the ground, limp, their necks bent at odd angles. And outside the gates, looking in at her, was a sea of black-robed wizards in masks. And at their head, tall and skeletal in black robes, was a half-human _thing_ with glowing red eyes set in a pale, pale face.

Ginny stared for what seemed like an eternity, while the thing drew its wand with agonizing slowness. _Move_, she thought. _Move, before he gets his wand out._ But it wasn't until the thing—Voldemort, it must be—had pointed his wand at her, had opened his mouth to utter some spell, that Ginny managed to shake of her paralysis. She dodged off the path as a spell exploded where she had been standing, and ran at an angle toward the wall beside the gate, following the curve of it toward the lake. If she could get to the lake, she could use the scrubby bushes and trees there as cover as she followed the shore back to the castle.

If they didn't get the gates open first.

If he didn't manage to get into her head again and make her open them.

She could hear thwarted screams of rage, felt something pressing down on her mind as she ran, trying to force her to turn, to go back. "No," she whispered, pushing herself to run faster. "No, no, no, no, no." This was _not happening_. Not again.

The castle came into sight, the huge main doors hanging ajar where she had pushed them open earlier. Ginny dashed up the steps and through them, pausing in her flight to shove them closed again. She hadn't seen anyone on the road behind her, but that didn't mean anything.

Dumbledore. She had to get to Dumbledore and tell him, had to warn the teachers. Ginny raced across the entrance hall and up the stairs that led to the Headmaster's office. The halls were empty at this hour of morning, though Ginny could barely spare time to be grateful for it. She came to a skidding stop at the gargoyle that guarded the stair to the office, gasping for breath.

"Pepper Imps," she said, and made a small, sobbing noise when the gargoyle refused to budge. "Oh, no. Please don't do this. Chocolate frog? Cockroach cluster? Oh, God."

"Miss Weasley?"

Ginny spun around and sagged with relief to see Dumbledore there. Professor McGonagall was just behind him, with Harry and Professor Delacour beside her. "Oh, thank Merlin," she gasped. "He's _here_, Professor, he's here right now, he's at the gates! They've come to the school, the might already be inside!"

Dumbledore raised one white eyebrow. "Who is here?"

"You-Know-Who! He's here, at the gates, I saw him!"

Dumbledore examined her carefully, his face grave. Behind him, Professor McGonagall was shaking her head in disapproval, and Harry and Professor Delacour were staring at her.

"Sugar quill," Dumbledore said, and Ginny blinked. But he wasn't speaking to her; the gargoyle had slid aside to reveal the stairs to his office. He motioned Ginny to precede them.

She stepped onto the moving staircase, trying not to feel so frightened. What if they didn't believe her? What if the Death Eaters had gained entrance already and she was too late? A tear slipped down her cheek and she bit her lip. Crying wasn't going to help.

A gentle hand rested on her shoulder, guiding her into the office and to a chair. Dumbledore moved away when she was seated, and lifted a strange contraption off a bookshelf, carrying it to his desk in silence.

"Really, Albus," Professor McGonagall began, but Dumbledore raised one hand and she fell silent. His face was intent as he fiddled with the odd machine, and no one else seemed disposed to interrupt.

"Ah, here we go," he said finally, and the air above the contraption went opaque, then cleared to reveal a perfect miniature picture of Hogwarts and the grounds. The group of dark-clad figures milling around the gate was clearly visible. Professor Delacour gasped, and Harry let out a quiet oath.

"So he has finally gathered his courage," Dumbledore said softly. "He has brought the battle to us."

Professor McGonagall had gone rather pale. "Shall I go and assemble the staff?"

"If you would, Minerva. Fleur, if you would be so kind as to contact the Ministry. In particular, notify Kingsley Shacklebolt. He's an Auror, and he knows who will need to be informed."

"Of course," Professor Delacour murmured, and followed Professor McGonagall out.

"Shouldn't we be going down to guard the gates?" Harry demanded. "If Voldemort's right there..."

"The gates will hold," Dumbledore said, his eyes on the image of Hogwarts still floating above his desk. "Our real concern is for when Voldemort realizes he cannot break them and thinks of coming through the forest. There are creatures there who will answer if he calls, and I have no doubt that he knows the secret paths through the forest's depths."

"Then this is it," Harry said, his voice grim. "We fight him here."

"I am afraid so. Once Kingsley and Moody have been informed, they will rouse the Ministry. We shall have to hold here until they arrive." Dumbledore moved a knob on his machine, and the image of Hogwarts vanished. "Miss Weasley, I must ask you to return to Gryffindor Tower. Harry, if you would escort her there, then return to the staff room with Ron and Hermione?"

"Of course," Harry said, and extended a hand to help Ginny out of her chair. She let him lead her down the stairs, feeling strangely let down. All that worry, and now they were shunting her off to Gryffindor, as though she hadn't done anything at all. No one had even asked what she'd been doing outside the castle.

Harry led her in silence, apparently sunk in his own thoughts. Ginny almost wished he would talk—she needed something to take her mind of the awareness of Voldemort outside the castle walls. She could _feel_ him out there, feel his frustration and rage as he threw spell after spell at the gates and they still refused to fall.

"Ginny."

She whipped her head up. Harry was a few steps ahead, looking at her strangely. She had the feeling he'd said her name more than once.

"Are you feeling all right?" he asked. "You look a little pale."

"No, I'm fine," she said, and shook her head to clear it. "I'm just..."

"Don't be scared," Harry said, in what he probably thought was a bracing tone. "Dumbledore said Voldemort can't get in. There's nothing to worry about."

"I'm not—" Ginny began, but she let the words drop. She wasn't afraid, exactly, but it was easier to let Harry think so than try to explain what was really wrong. "I know we'll be fine."

"And we will," he said. "We've got Dumbledore, after all, and all the teachers."

"And you," Ginny replied, and grinned when he blushed.

"C'mon," he said, ducking his head. "We should get to Gryffindor."

Ginny grinned again, her spirits lifting a little, and followed.

~*~

The staff room was packed full of teachers when Draco arrived in answer to Professor McGonagall's summons. Everyone was here, from Filch to Professor Sinistra—even Binns was floating in one corner, looking baffled. It was awfully early in the morning for a staff meeting.

Draco slid into an empty spot beside Madam Pomfrey and leaned forward, wondering if it would be worth pumping her for details. Though considering how confused she looked, she probably didn't know. In fact, most of the teachers looked puzzled, with the exception of McGonagall; she just looked tense.

Dumbledore arrived not long after, with Potter, Granger, Weasley and Professor Delacour in tow. Draco rolled his eyes; of course they were involved somehow. He leaned back in his seat as Dumbledore raised his hand for attention. Not that it was necessary, since everyone was focused on him already.

"I have grave news," he said. "Voldemort has come to Hogwarts. He is at our gates as I speak."

He might as well have dropped a stun-bomb.

It took a moment for the news to sink in, but once it had all the teachers exploded into shouting at once. Draco sank back in his chair, stunned. Voldemort was _here_, at their very doors. And that meant that the Death Eaters must be here too.

His _father_ was here.

Here, right now, at the gates, and it would come to battle in mere hours, and Draco would have to go and face his friends, his peers, all the Slytherins who were dutiful little sons and daughters and followed their parents into Voldemort's ranks. He would have to face his father, maybe over _wands_, and there was no way to avoid it, no way to hide in the castle and refuse to go out there without looking like a coward or a turncoat.

Except he was a coward and a turncoat as far as Father was concerned, and nothing he did now would make a difference. He'd waited too long to make a decision one way or the other, and now it had been made for him. In a way he was relieved; anything that happened now was out of his control.

Draco dragged his attention back to Dumbledore, who had raised his hands, gesturing for quiet. "Please!" he was saying loudly. "You must remain calm! Yes, Voldemort is at our gates. The Ministry has been notified, and Aurors are being dispatched even as we speak, by Portkey and protected Floo. The gates will hold, but our main concern is that Voldemort will approach the castle through the forest."

"And what if he does?" demanded Professor Vector. "Does the Ministry expect us to hold him off ourselves?"

"The Ministry is coming," Professor McGonagall snapped. "As Albus has just informed you. We have only to hold the castle, Isaac. Surely you are capable of helping with that?"

Vector subsided with a grumble, but Draco thought he had a good point. What good would the teachers do? Binns was dead already, Vector's bulk was evidence that he rarely left his rooms except for meals and classes, and many of the other teachers were scarcely better. They knew teaching, most of them, not defense.

Potter was stepping forward now, straightening his narrow shoulders. "Hogwarts isn't totally defenseless, Professor," he said. "You've got three Aurors right here, and more are on their way. We're ready and able to take charge of the castle defenses. Hogwarts won't fall on my watch."

Draco suppressed a snort, but many of the other teachers looked reassured. Of course Potter had survived attacks by Voldemort before, but fighting off a determined band of Death Eaters? He hoped the Ministry planned to send them a lot of extra Aurors.

Dumbledore raised his hands again. "The Aurors will be arriving in the Great Hall shortly. Isaac, I would like you to assist Minerva in setting up a defensive plan, and I will be putting you in charge of directing people to where they are most needed. Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger will be in charge of the defenses themselves, along with myself. Poppy, if you would prepare the hospital wing...I hope that we won't need your services, but it's best to be prepared. Hagrid, when our defenses are in place, I want you to bring all the students to the Great Hall. Better that they are all together than scattered about the school. As well, if it is necessary to give ground, we can hold the Hall longer than any other room."

The mood was grim as Dumbledore parceled out assignments to the other teachers; most were to help form a guard around the central castle. Draco was one of those, which surprised him. He thought Dumbledore might have shipped him off to the hospital wing with Madam Pomfrey—in fact, he would have been glad to be out of it. But instead he was forced to fall in behind the rest as they headed for the Great Hall.

*

Draco sat in his chair at the Head Table and scanned the Great Hall. With the addition of a score of Aurors and Unspeakables from the Ministry the room seemed over-full. The students had arranged themselves into houses, and were sitting in small groups at each table. About half of the Aurors were milling around in front of the doors, and the rest were standing in groups in front of the table, talking amongst themselves. The teachers had arranged themselves at their usual seats, though Professor Sprout and Professor Flitwick were walking up and down the long tables, trying to reassure the students.

Ginny was sitting with her friends near the end of the Gryffindor table, close to the Hall doors. She looked strained, her face almost the same colour as her white shirt. She had looked at him only once, meeting his eyes as she filed in behind her friends, before dropping her head, bright red curls falling over her face. Draco clenched his jaw and tried not to mind. He would have liked a little more notice, but she was being cautious. Which was understandable, with her brother hovering around and the room full of Aurors.

Draco dragged his eyes away from her again and tried to focus on the conversations going on around him. If they had him in the Great Hall, that probably meant they wanted him to fight—or just wanted to have him where they could keep an eye on him. He was sure that the other Aurors didn't trust him any more than Potter or Weasley did. The tall black one, Kingsley Shacklebolt, hadn't stopped glaring in Draco's direction since he arrived.

Currently Dumbledore was the centre of the small group who'd been silently declared the leaders of their little army: Potter, Weasley, Granger, McGonagall, Shacklebolt and another Auror Draco hadn't been introduced to. They were speaking in hushed voices, though Draco had a fair idea of what their conversation must be about. It wasn't just Hogwarts under attack today; word had come that the Ministry was under assault by another group of Death Eaters, and the score of Aurors who were here were all that could be spared.

Draco swallowed hard and looked across the hall again, more worried than he really wanted to admit. If what Dumbledore said was true, and You-Know-Who was at their gates, then this was where the real battle would be, and they didn't have nearly enough resources to fight it. He tried to push away the small knot of worry forming in his chest, and risked another glance at Ginny's spot at the Gryffindor table, more for reassurance than anything else.

But Ginny wasn't there.

Draco sat up a little straighter and scanned the hall again. She couldn't possibly have left without Draco noticing—he'd been watching her, after all. But there were her useless friends, Creevey and his little brown nonentity of a girlfriend, who hadn't even noticed her empty seat.

Draco clenched his hands in agitation. She must have left the hall when he wasn't looking, but why? He stood up abruptly, ignoring the strange looks of the others at the table, and made his way toward the crowd at the main doors. The doors themselves were being guarded by a stocky female Auror he didn't recognize.

"Here now," she said, and grabbed his sleeve as he went to move past her. "Where do you think you're going?"

Draco swung around and glared. "Ginny Weasley," he snapped. "Did she just leave this way?"

The woman flushed and raised her chin. "She was just stepping out to the loo. I sent Coral with her and they'll be right back, so why don't you just wait—"

But Draco had already pushed past, shoving the door open. The entrance hall was empty, but the main doors...

The main doors were standing open.

Draco bit back his rising panic. The only thing standing between Voldemort and the castle were the defenses the Aurors had set into the walls. The spells hinged on the castle being closed to the outside, and if the doors were open...

If Ginny was out there...

Draco crossed the hall at a run and skidded to a stop at the edge of the doorway. At the bottom of the stairs was a small figure with bright red hair, and across the lawn, near the edge of the forest, was a solid line of Death Eaters with a tall, inhuman figure at their head.

Draco paused at the castle door, frozen with a heady mix of panic and horror as he watched Ginny walk evenly onto the lawn, toward that group of black-clad wizards.

"Ginny!" he called, his voice cracking with fear, but she didn't seem to hear. Draco wavered for a moment, looking from her to the Death Eaters and back, then took a deep breath and ran down the stairs. He grabbed her arm when he reached her, spinning her to face him. "Ginny, what—"

She didn't answer, moving like a rag doll in his grip. Her eyes looked...vacant, as though what made her _Ginny_ was somehow absent. She stared at him without comprehension for a long moment, her eyes blank and strange.

Then she blinked and it was only Ginny, looking up at him in confusion. "Draco? What are you—?" She took in her surroundings, the stair and the open door, then turned her head and caught sight of the Death Eaters across the lawn. She made a muffled, sobbing noise and covered her mouth with her hand.

"Come _on_," Draco said impatiently, and yanked on her arm. "We need to get back inside."

The Death Eaters were moving.

Draco watched them with a sort of horrified fascination as he backed toward the stairs, trying not to admit that he was searching their ranks for his father's familiar figure. Ginny couldn't seem to look away either; she let Draco pull her away, but she seemed curiously reluctant to retreat to the castle.

"Ginny, come _on_," he said frantically. She wasn't listening, the strange, blank look back in her eyes. Draco dragged her closer and wrapped an arm around her waist. He would make her come with him, even if it took carrying her. "Come on. You don't want to do this."

"..._trying_," she moaned. "_Stop_. Please..." Her hands curled in his robes even as she pushed against his chest, as though she was struggling between fighting him off and staying. Her eyes cleared, and she stared up at Draco in desperation. "Don't let him," she whispered. "Don't let him make me."

"I won't," Draco whispered. "I swear it." He hugged her tighter and turned away from the lawn, pulling her toward the stairs. He didn't quite dare to run; he didn't want to risk losing hold of Ginny in a rush, but the Death Eaters were moving closer and closer....

"_MALFOY, GET DOWN_!"

Draco dropped to his knees, obeying the command in that voice without even thinking about it. He curled himself over Ginny and felt a spell singe his hair as it passed overhead. He could hear Potter and Weasley shouting counter-spells, and he hauled himself up and toward them, half-dragging, half-pushing Ginny with him.

He dodged another spell, and then another, and then they were up the stairs and the doors were slamming shut behind them all, with Granger's shrill voice calling out spell after spell to set the wards again.

Draco slumped against the wall beside the door with Ginny in his arms. She had fallen against him as the doors closed, and buried her face in his robes with a small sob. He held her close and let his head rest against hers, thankful that she was safe; that had been far too close.

Their reprieve didn't last long. Weasley spun around and advanced on Draco, his wand held at the ready. "What the _hell_ is going on?" he shouted. "What was Ginny doing outside, Malfoy? And what were _you_ doing?"

"Going after her?" Draco said, infusing his voice with as much disgust as he could manage. "Since no one _else_ seemed to notice that she'd disappeared."

Weasley's face went an odd purple-red. "Don't you tell me that you were out for her best interests, you stuck up prat! Now get your hands off my sister and explain what the hell it is you think you're doing!"

"Oh, shut _up_, Ron," Ginny said, her voice rusty. She turned her head slightly so she could glare at her brother. "I'm perfectly fine right where I am."

Draco smirked at the pole-axed expression on Weasley's face. He would have laughed, but Ginny turned her head away, swaying against his chest. He braced himself, and tightened his hold on her, to keep her from slipping out of his arms.

"We haven't got time for this," Granger said. She grabbed Weasley's wand arm and tugged it down, then shoved him to one side. "The _important_ thing is finding out what happened. Ginny?"

"I'm sorry," Ginny whispered in reply, her voice muffled in his robes. "I didn't mean to, I swear I didn't, he made me, I'm so sorry."

"Who made you?" Granger asked, but from the look she was giving Draco it was fairly clear who _she_ thought it was. Draco gave her his best sneer. Stupid mudblood.

"Riddle," Ginny said, and turned her head to face Granger. "It was Tom Riddle."

Granger gawped at Ginny for a moment. Clearly, she hadn't been expecting that answer. "T—Tom _Riddle_? What—_how_...?"

"I...have nightmares. Had them. Ever since first year. I thought that was all they were. Just...dreams. But they changed, and now I—I can feel him," she said faintly. "I can feel him in my head." Her voice caught on a sob and she turned her head into Draco's chest again, shaking even more fiercely. "I should have said. I should have told someone and I didn't, and I'm so sorry."

Weasley still hadn't lost his flummoxed expression; he exchanged a nervous glance with Potter, and both of them looked at Granger as if they were waiting for her to do something.

"Right," Granger said, in a take-charge tone she'd obviously copied off McGonagall. "I'll go get Dumbledore."

She spun around and made her way back to the doors to the Great Hall, where a small group of Aurors was milling about. She pushed through them, barking orders as she went, and disappeared into the Hall. The Aurors moved forward to ward the doors more fully, carefully ignoring their little tableau.

Ginny leaned heavily against Draco, her eyes closing. She looked...well, to be honest, she looked terrible, tired and drawn, the tiny lines that fanned out from her eyes more pronounced than ever. He rubbed her back with one hand and she sighed, but the tension didn't leave her.

Potter and Weasley were watching him now, with identical strange expressions, but it was Potter, and not Ginny's brother, who finally spoke. "Ginny," he said cautiously, "What sort of dreams? They're not...they're not like mine, are they?"

"How would I know if they were?" Ginny asked, turning in the circle of Draco's arms so she could face him. "I've had nightmares since first year, but they've always been just dreams! And then they changed. It was like...like when...with T—with Riddle. It was like it was when he was using me. I'd wake up and have no idea how I got there. But those only started in the last few weeks, and I didn't know—"

"Right about the time you started hanging around with _him_, I reckon!" Weasley spat, glaring at Draco. "I knew there was something fishy about him being here!"

"No it wasn't, Ron, that was months ago, and would you please just _shut up_?" Ginny snapped back. "It's got nothing to do with Draco."

Weasley went purple again, and Potter reached out to grab his arm quickly. "Ron, now isn't the time."

"No indeed, Mr. Weasley, it is not the time to begin fighting amongst ourselves." They all turned as Dumbledore approached, with Professor McGonagall, Granger and a senior group of Aurors trailing behind him. He paused beside Potter and looked at Ginny. "If what Miss Granger has said is true, something very serious has happened."

Ginny wiped at her face with one hand, but she didn't move away from Draco, for which he was profoundly grateful. He felt better just being able to touch her, even with the death glares the Weasel King was shooting at his head. Ginny seemed to feel the same; she settled back in his arms and wrapped her cool hands over his where they were clasped around her waist.

"Miss Weasley, you say you've been having dreams," Dumbledore said quietly. "What sort of dreams?"

Ginny took a deep breath and leaned into Draco a bit. She seemed calmer, but he could feel the strain in her, a stiffness that wouldn't fade. "They're not exactly like dreams. I mean, I start out dreaming, but then I wake up, and I'm out of bed, outside of the tower, like I've been sleepwalking, but...that's not what it is. It's like...it was the same way when Tom—when Riddle. When I had the diary. Except it's different. I don't know how to explain it."

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "How many times has this happened?"

"I'm not sure. Three or four times, I think," she said. "That I know of. And today, in the hall...I wasn't sleeping, but I don't remember leaving. And I can still—he wants me to open the doors. I can feel it."

As if in response to her words, the doors shuddered ominously as they were hit with a spell from outside. Everyone jumped, even Dumbledore, and Draco tightened his hold on Ginny's waist.

"I think he may not rely on only that to break down our doors," Dumbledore said, raising his eyebrows. "Minerva, if you could gather the Aurors together and bring them here, I think we might be requiring their assistance soon. Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, if you could help Minerva with the organization, I'm sure that would be a great help."

"But what about Ginny?" Weasley demanded. "And this thing about You-Know-Who being able to use her? What's going _on_?"

"I am not sure," Dumbledore replied. "Although I can guess. It seems that Voldemort has discovered the connection the echo of his younger self had with Miss Weasley from her first days at Hogwarts, and has found a way to use it. I would guess his hold on her is not as...complete as it was then, or she would not be able to resist his pull on her mind. But it is enough for him to act through her, albeit briefly."

Weasley frowned, and Draco couldn't blame him. That wasn't an explanation at all. "How could he have a connection with my sister? That was _years_ ago, before You-Know-Who even got his own body back!"

"Ron's right," Granger said, her voice puzzled. "How could he know that it was Ginny at all? And even if someone told him what had happened with the diary then, what good would that do him now? He'd need something, probably the diary itself, to set up the spell that would let him link to her. Without something to focus it, the spell wouldn't work, and since he doesn't have the diary...."

"Er," Potter said quietly, and flushed as everyone turned to look at him. "Actually, he probably does have the diary. I sort of gave it back. To Lucius Malfoy, to make him set Dobby free."

There was a long pause while everyone stared at Potter and Potter looked as if he wanted to sink into the floor.

"Good one, Potter," Draco said softly, breaking the tense silence. "Treated it with your usual brilliance, I see, and your typical disregard for how your actions might affect others."

Potter narrowed his eyes furiously. "You're one to talk, _Malfoy_. It was your father who gave it to her in the first place! And I don't think anyone's quite explained exactly how you knew Ginny was out here, either!"

"I saw her leave. Which _you_ didn't notice. Along with a host of other things you've never noticed," Draco sneered.

Potter made an outraged noise and took a step forward, only to be stopped by Dumbledore's outstretched arm. "That's quite enough," he said sternly. "What is done is done, and Harry cannot take all the blame for that. I could have prevented him from taking the diary then, and I did not." He turned to Ginny, his normally bright blue eyes dulled with sympathy. "I can only say that I am sorry."

"_Sorry_," Draco muttered contemptuously, but Ginny twisted her head to look at him, her hands tightening on his where they still rested around her waist.

"Don't," she said softly. "Draco, please. It's not worth it."

There was a whole host of replies he could make to that, starting with the fact that it was very much worth yelling at Potter for his carelessness in putting Ginny in danger, but she looked so distraught he couldn't bring himself to upset her more. He raised his eyes to Dumbledore instead, gratified that the old man did seem genuinely sorry. "Isn't there anything you can do?" he asked. "Some way to block whatever spell he's put on her?"

"Not in the little time we have now," Dumbledore said sadly. "Although..." He stepped forward and laid gnarled hands on Ginny's head, closing his eyes in concentration. A soft gold glow seemed to flow from his hands and over her hair, sinking into her skull after a moment. "I'm afraid I cannot totally counter-act the spell, but that should block the worst of it. And I think it would be best, Mr. Malfoy, if you took Miss Weasley back to the Great Hall."

Draco nodded and made to guide Ginny away, but Weasley seemed to have got over his speechlessness. "Wait a minute!" he demanded. "Why is _Malfoy_ taking care of Ginny? You can't just let him go off with her!

"Focus, please, Mr. Weasley," Professor McGonagall snapped, turning a stern glare on him. "We have more important things to worry about. I'm sure Mr. Malfoy will take care of her." She glanced at Draco, and he realized that she must _know_. Know and approve, or at least, didn't care enough to make a fuss about it.

Dumbledore stepped forward too, giving Draco a chance to pull Ginny away from the group before Weasley could recover enough to protest again. He guided her back to the doors, one arm resting gently around her shoulders. She still seemed shaky, her steps slightly unsteady.

"Are you sure you're all right?" he asked her quietly.

"I think so," she whispered. "I can still feel him, but it's not quite as bad. I just—" She bit her lip, her eyes suddenly filmed with tears. "It isn't _fair_. Why can't he just leave me alone?"

Draco didn't know what to say. There was nothing he could say to comfort her, nothing he could do here, surrounded by people who couldn't know what they were to each other. He pulled her a little closer to his side, rubbing her shoulder. "It'll be all right," he whispered.

Ginny shook her head, but didn't say anything more as he brought her into the Great Hall, guiding her past the small group of Aurors and teachers gathered around the door. One or two of the professors looked askance at them as he walked her past, but Draco merely glared and ignored them. Her little brown friend—and Draco knew he should remember her name, since he taught the bloody girl—came rushing over to grasp Ginny's hands, her eyes wide. "All you all right?" she asked. "Where did you _go_?"

"I can't, Zoë, I—" Ginny faltered, glancing up at Draco. "I can't say."

"But Ginny—"

"She's not feeling well," Draco interrupted, before Zoë could say anything else. She shot him a strange look, then raised her eyebrows at Ginny in a way that made Draco wonder what she knew. "You need to sit down," he said to Ginny.

"I think so," she said softly, and she _was_ looking peaky. Draco wrapped one arm possessively around her shoulders and pushed past her little friend, guiding her toward the Head Table. He wasn't about to let her sit with the students, not with the absolutely _brilliant_ job they'd done in looking after her so far.

He steered her into a chair at the end of the table, ignoring the odd looks the other teachers were giving him, and knelt in front of her. "How do you feel?" he asked. She still looked pale, her face strained.

"I can't—it's hard to explain. I can still feel...it's like I can feel his mind, but he's not paying attention to me anymore. And the spell makes it harder." Ginny clutched at his hands. "But he's still there, and he wants..." Her voice trailed off and she leaned back, her eyes going strangely vacant again. Whatever she was looking at, it wasn't in the room.

The rest of the teachers were leaving the Head Table, to make their way to the doors where the Aurors who had stayed behind were gathered, huddled around a small bowl that reflected what was happening outside. Even through the thick castle walls they could hear the sounds of spells shattering, and every so often, one of the Aurors would look up, to tell the teachers and students sitting closest what was going on, but Draco was too far away to hear what was being said.

"It's close," Ginny whispered suddenly. Draco turned to look, but she didn't seem to be aware of the room; her eyes were still eerily empty, her focus turned inward. "I can feel—he's angry. Something's happened, and he's not happy. I don't know..."

"Ginny?" he said cautiously, but she didn't seem to hear him.

"I think we're winning," she whispered. "We're winning. There's more Aurors now." A shudder went through her and her hands tightened on his, awareness flooding back into her eyes. "It's—it's—oh. Oh," she said softly, her face brightening. "_Oh_. I think—I think it's—he did it. Harry did it! Voldemort is dead!"

And then she collapsed forward into Draco's arms as all around, the students and teachers in the Great Hall burst into cheers.

~*~


	10. Chapter 10

~*~

When Ginny woke up, it was to a dark room and a blinding, pounding headache that made her gasp in pain and shut her eyes again almost immediately. She felt the bed shift and a cool hand rest on her forehead. Both movements sent little arrows of agony into her skull. She risked opening her eyes again, to find her mum's worried face hovering above her.

"How do you feel?" she asked quietly.

"Terrible," Ginny whispered, her voice a thin rasp. "Head hurts."

"I know, dear. You've been ill, but you're getting better. I can give you something for your head."

Mum stood up but the motion was too nauseating to Ginny; she shut her eyes again so she wouldn't have to watch as Mum moved away from the bed. A few moments later she felt the mattress dip again and Mum's hand, cool against her cheek.

"Where am I?" she asked, without opening her eyes.

"You're home," Mum replied. "Here you go. Open your mouth, dear."

Mum's hand lifted her head gently and something extraordinarily repulsive was tipped into her mouth. She swallowed it, but only because she didn't want to make a mess of herself. "Eugh," she said, pulling away in protest. "What _is_ that?"

"It's something that will help you get better. Now hush, dear, and go to sleep."

"Mmmm." The potion worked fast; she could feel the pain become fuzzy as she drifted closer to the edges of sleep. "What happened?"

"Don't worry about that," Mum whispered. "Everyone is fine, and so are you. Just rest."

Ginny tried to protest, but the pull of the potion was too strong, and she faded down into slumber.

*

The next time she woke the pain in her head was a dull throb and Bill was sitting by her bed, slouched in a chair and flipping through the pages of a huge, ancient-looking book, his dragon-hide clad feet propped up on her bedside table.

"If Mum sees you she'll have a fit," Ginny said hoarsely, and suppressed a giggle as Bill started and nearly tipped himself out of the chair.

Bill laughed and straightened up, closing his book and letting it drop to the floor beside his chair with a thud. "Good morning," he said. "How do you feel?"

"Terrible," she said. "Head hurts, and it tastes like something died in my mouth."

"Poor love. D'you want a glass of water?"

"Please."

Bill got up and disappeared into the hall; she heard a tap running, and he came back in a moment with a large tumbler of water. He helped her sit up and slid one arm around her shoulders, holding the edge of the glass as she sipped carefully.

"Is that a bit better?" he asked when she'd finished.

"A little," Ginny said, and let Bill settle her back against her pillows. She closed her eyes with a sigh, willing her head to stop hurting. "What's going on?"

There was a long silence, and Ginny finally pried her eyes open so she could look at her brother. Bill was staring at his hands, his face solemn.

"Bill?"

"Nothing's going on right now," he said after another long pause. "Everything's fine."

"If everything's fine, why are you trying not to look at me? Where's—" She caught herself before she could say "Draco", and then memories started to come flooding back.

Draco catching her at the foot of the stairs to the Entrance Hall, his arms around her as he tried to keep her from going to the Death Eaters across the lawn.

The feel of a foreign mind pressing down on hers and making her do things she didn't want to do, no matter how hard she tried to stop.

Hermione's recriminating expression as Ginny tried to explain what was happening to her.   
The look on Ron's face when she said the name _Tom Riddle_.

Harry staring at his feet, his face frightened...and guilty.

A spike of pain shot through her head, and then Bill was holding her up and tilting more of that vile potion down her throat. Ginny tried to protest but her head hurt too much to move it, and then the potion was working its way through her, pulling her back into sleep.

*

Ginny didn't know how long they kept her asleep after that, but when she finally woke again it was late at night and her room was empty. Her head still ached but the pain had lessened quite a bit. She sat up cautiously, pleased when the movement didn't make her feel dizzy or nauseous, and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Her knees felt shaky, but she could stand, and she crept out of her room and down the hall to the toilet under her own power. Somehow that felt like a major accomplishment.

She caught sight of her own reflection in the mirror over the sink and stared, braced against the counter. Her hair was lank and tangled, her face pale, and despite all the sleeping she'd been doing she looked exhausted.

"Don't think you should be out of bed, dearie," the mirror said. "You look like death warmed over."

"Thanks," Ginny said wryly, but she had to agree. Now that she'd seen what she looked like she _felt_ dirty, but the thought of drawing a bath was too tiring. She settled for filling the sink with warm water and washing her face. Even that small effort left her feeling worn out, though, and she shuffled slowly back to bed to sink gratefully into the warm mound of bedclothes, feeling slightly more human.

Ginny closed her eyes and tried to think what had happened to so utterly sap her energy. Everything after she had re-entered the Great Hall with Draco was a blur of images and movement and noise that she couldn't quite bring into focus. It was hard to think about, and she had brief, flashing memories of things she couldn't possibly have seen.

She had known when Harry killed Voldemort. His death broke whatever spell had been on her, the strands of her being that Voldemort had pulled out of her returning with a snap. There had been a huge sensation of relief, a cessation of a pressure she hadn't known was there until it was gone.

And then everything had gone black, and when she woke again she'd been here. Ginny closed her eyes, straining to remember just a little bit more, but the effort made her head start to throb dully. She sighed in frustration; the pain made it hard for her to think, and there didn't seem to be any way to avoid it. She gave it up and curled around her pillow, trying to find a spot that didn't make her headache worse.

*

The next several days were much like the previous few; half the time Ginny barely got her eyes open before Mum or Dad or Bill were dosing her with the horrible potion and sending her right back to sleep. It was a week before she was even allowed to sit up, propped against a mound of pillows stacked against the headboard.

"Can't I even read something?" Ginny asked plaintively, while Mum bustled around and arranged the curtains so that there wasn't too much sun.

"Not yet, love," Mum said. "You don't want to strain yourself. I'll send Bill in to talk to you in a minute. Maybe he'll read you a bit from his Quidditch magazine. Won't that be nice?"

Ginny muttered under her breath. _Nice_. To be treated as an invalid, read to as though she was a baby; why, she couldn't think of anything she'd rather do. Mum came back to the bed and tried to plump her pillow, but Ginny waved her away in irritation.

"Stop _fussing_, Mum. There's nothing wrong with my pillows."

"Are you tired, dear? Does your head hurt?" Mum paused, her face lined with concern. "Just let me pop downstairs and get your potion—"

"_No_! I'm not tired and my head doesn't hurt, and I don't need another pillow or a warming charm or anything else!" Ginny snapped, then bit her lip guiltily as Mum's face fell. "I really am fine, Mum," she said, trying to control her irritation. "I'm just bored."

"Well I'm sorry for that, but you mustn't strain yourself rushing into anything before you're ready. You need rest, love. It's the only way you'll get..." Mum bit her lip and changed tack. "It's the best way to deal with those headaches of yours. Madam Pomfrey said so."

Ginny was sure Mum was about to say, "get better", but that didn't make any sense. She wasn't really sick, after all. No one ever died of headache. But Mum looked so worried that she didn't have the heart to press.

"Send Bill up then, with his Quidditch rag," she said, and felt a little better when Mum smiled.

A few minutes later Bill arrived, his arms full of books. "Mum said to read to you from a magazine, but between you, me and the bedpost, I think she's being a mite overprotective," he said, dumping his load on her bedside table. "I don't see why you can't read on your own, and I can't think of anything I'd rather do less than read out loud for an hour."

"What, you're not going to treat me like I'm made of glass?" Ginny asked, and grinned as Bill rolled his eyes at her. She leaned forward to scan the spines of the books, snickering a bit at some of the more lurid titles. "Don't tell me you actually went out and bought these yourself? I didn't think you were the romance type."

"I didn't, I borrowed 'em from Fleur. I don't know what you like to read." Bill pulled a stack of magazines from the bottom of the pile. "Got the last few months' back issues of _Quidditch Weekly_, if you'd rather that. Or put in a request, and I'll see what I can smuggle past Mum." He flashed her a conspiratorial grin.

Ginny grinned back. "I will. Toss me a magazine, will you? I'm not in the mood for a  
novel."

They read in a companionable silence for several hours, until Mum came back up with a tray of food for them to share. After the meal was over, Bill produced a pack of cards and they played a few hands of Exploding Snap before Ginny's head started to ache again.

"Need me to get Mum?" Bill asked, a faint tinge of worry in his voice. "You don't need potion or anything?"

"No," Ginny said. "I'm fine. Just a little tired, is all."

Bill nodded and collected the cards, putting them back in the pocket of his robes. He leaned back in the chair and stretched, yawning hugely. "You're not the only one. I might just join you in a bit of a nap."

Ginny smiled faintly and watched as he arranged the chair so he could put his feet up on the bedside table. He settled his robes around him and winked.

"What, here?" she asked incredulously. "Wouldn't you rather sleep in a real bed?"

"Nah," he said, waving a hand vaguely in the air. "I'm used to sleeping in chairs and on floors. I've done worse, in Egypt."

"I know," she said. She'd heard all of Bill's Egypt stories and knew that was true, but she was sure he wasn't staying because he was so used to napping in uncomfortable places. "That doesn't mean you need to watch over me all the time. It's not like I sleepwalk. Anymore," she added awkwardly.

Bill didn't seem to notice her discomfort. "Yes, but I promised Mum I'd stay and so I'm staying. And don't think you can talk me out of it," he said sternly. "You're nowhere near Mum's level when it comes to nagging, so don't try."

"I wasn't going to. I'm just saying you don't have to hover like an old granny. Any of you."

"We hover because we care," Bill replied calmly. "Go to sleep."

She muttered, but obediently lay back. If he wanted to get a crick in his neck sleeping in a chair, it was his own fault. She heard Bill shift into a more comfortable position and allowed herself to drift off to sleep.

~*~

Draco sprawled on a bench in the Quidditch bleachers, letting the early afternoon sun soak into his skin. Up here it was easier to believe in the illusion of freedom. After spending most of the last year hiding inside the castle, being able to lie in the sun was a blessing. One that he was making the best of, these days. Anything that got him out from under the eyes of the horde of people who'd overrun Hogwarts after the final battle—Aurors, Ministry peons, and dozens of jubilant wounded.

Draco couldn't share the same jubilation. They were mostly celebrating the deaths or captures of people he knew. Pansy's parents, Blaise's parents, the families of half the Slytherins he'd gone to school with, or so it seemed. People his parents had hosted at dinner parties or invited over for tea, people Draco had socialized with since he was a child.

He shook his head restlessly, shading his eyes against the bright sun. He was trying to avoid thinking about the war and its messy aftermath, as if by avoiding unpleasant thoughts he could stave off the truths behind them. Bad enough that he was surrounded by people who claimed that everything he might mourn for was a victory.

None of them trusted him. He could feel it in the way gazes lingered on him when he passed people in the halls, the way conversations fell and rose again after he'd moved on. He hadn't done anything wrong during the war, but according to the Ministry he hadn't exactly done anything _right_ either. No one liked a coward, and while Potter and his gang were off dodging Dark wizards and fighting for Dumbledore, Draco had been doing things like grading potions assignments for a bunch of 11-year-olds and being his father's son.

He wasn't even that anymore. Father was dead now, killed during the attack on the Ministry that had served as a distraction for the Aurors there, preventing them from joining in the final battle at Hogwarts. No one had told Draco directly, but he had heard Father's death described in graphic detail more than once. Thinking about it made him nauseous. Mingled with the images painted for him by gleeful story-tellers was the memory of the last conversation he'd ever had with Father, and the cold, desperate ache of knowing that Father had died thinking him a traitor and a coward.

Mother had vanished onto the Continent, to "visit" some obscure set of cousins Draco hadn't even heard of until a Ministry official asked him who they were. They'd even made him take Veritaserum and let them ask him questions—a horrible, invasive process that he never wanted to repeat. And after all that, he still didn't have anything to tell them—he supposed Dumbledore could have told them the same thing, but the old man had been curiously absent for Draco's interrogation.

Draco sighed and sat up, bracing his back against the wall and staring moodily over the deserted pitch. He'd toyed with the idea of pulling out his broom and flying laps, but he might draw more attention than it was worth. He'd had his fill of being watched, and really, just being able to come outside and sit in the stands was enough.

When he had the stands to himself, that was.

Weasley and Potter weren't quiet at the best of times, and neither of them—valiantly wounded war-heroes that they were—had any reason to skulk anywhere. Draco heard them long before they walked onto the pitch, brooms in hand. Potter was still moving with a slight limp and Weasley favoured his left side, but the injuries they'd taken in battle didn't seem to be slowing them down any. Weasley said something that made Potter laugh, then swung his leg over his broom and pushed off. Potter followed him into the air, and Draco slid along the seats into the patch of shadow cast by the wall behind the last bench. He watched sullenly as they flew in lazy circles above the grass.

Draco almost missed spotting Granger, making her way across the edge of the pitch and straight to the bleachers he was sitting in. She paused at the bottom of the stairs and turned to watch Potter and Weasley for a moment, shading her eyes against the sun. She turned and started up into the stands, hitching her shoulder to re-settle the ever-present book bag. Draco slouched even further into his shadowy corner, but it didn't do any good. She spotted him right off, and after a moment of indecision began making her way across the empty benches toward him.

Draco thought briefly about escape, but Granger looked determined and he didn't really feel like letting her chase him around. Best to just get it over with.

She came to stand in front of him, a few risers down. "What are you doing here?"

Draco shrugged, habit pulling his spine straight and his chin up. "I _was_ enjoying the day until quite recently," he said haughtily.

Granger rolled her eyes and dropped her book bag onto the bench, clearly ready to make herself comfortable. "I suppose you came out here to watch Harry and Ron play."

"I didn't come out here to watch anyone do anything," Draco snapped. "In case you've failed to notice, Granger, I was here when they got here. I was looking for some peace and quiet, though I see that's a lost cause."

Granger's lips thinned, but she sat down on the bench and twisted around so she could keep her eyes on him.

Draco smirked and leaned back, tilting his head so that he wouldn't have to watch Weasley and Potter swooping across the pitch. He settled himself for a wait, but it wasn't very long at all before she broke the silence.

"Why are you _here_, anyway?" she demanded. "You haven't _changed_. I know you weren't really on our side for this war. Why do you stay here? Why don't you go home?"

"Nosy as ever, I see."

"Well someone's got to ask. It might as well be me."

"Maybe you were just wrong about me," Draco sneered.

"No," Granger replied, "I'm pretty sure I'm _not_ wrong about you. I know that you're a stuck-up prat whose main hobby is tormenting other people. What I am concerned about is your sudden interest in Ginny." She paused and glanced out at the pitch. "Frankly, Malfoy, you are the last thing she needs right now. The last thing _anyone_ needs. She's very ill you know, and her parents have enough to worry about with Ron and Harry having been injured and the situation with Charlie...the only reason we're all still here is because she's too ill to allow Ron and Charlie to go back to the Burrow. We certainly don't need someone like _you_ poking around."

Draco stiffened at Ginny's name, his fingers curling against the cool wood of the bench under him. He'd known Ginny was ill, that wasn't news—he'd carried her up to the hospital wing himself when she'd collapsed after the battle, and had been beside himself with worry when they'd moved her out of the castle without telling anyone—but no one had told him that her injuries were serious. Granger looked back at him, a mix of curiosity and antagonism in her eyes.

"It wasn't sudden," he said finally, and smiled in grim amusement as Granger's curiosity melted into confusion. "My 'interest' in Ginny. It wasn't sudden. And you should keep your nose out of things you don't know anything about." He stood up and shook out his robes before striding toward the stairs. His hands were trembling, tucked into the sleeves of his robes, but he was damned if he'd let it show.

He knew Granger was watching him, but he didn't care; his afternoon was spoiled and it was all her fault. He stomped across the lawn toward the castle, his mind whirling. Ginny couldn't really be that sick, could she? Surely someone would have said something.

Except there was a good possibility that nobody would. Draco was persona non grata around here, after all. No one told him anything.

Draco ignored the looks and whispers that marked his passage through the Entrance Hall and retreated back to Snape's old workroom. He was still in charge of Potions, which meant that despite what everyone thought of him he wasn't entirely useless. At least it gave him something to do while he thought about Ginny's illness.

*

Draco waited until the next day to go in search of the person who might tell him the truth. To his amazement, Dumbledore was actually in his office when he arrived, and didn't even look surprised to see him.

"Mr. Malfoy. I was wondering where you'd got to," he said cheerfully at Draco's hesitant tap at the door. "Do come in."

Draco entered, scowling. Where he'd got to...where did the daft bugger _think_ he'd been? He didn't have anywhere to _go_. Dumbledore motioned to one of the chairs in front of his desk, but Draco ignored that. He paced in front of the bookcases instead, trying to decide how best to approach what he wanted to ask.

Dumbledore waited.

"I wanted to ask you about Ginny," Draco finally said to a row of books. "I haven't seen her, and I can't _ask_...but I think she might be—be really ill. Dying, maybe."

"Ah," Dumbledore said. "So you've heard that, have you?"

Draco wheeled around to stare at him in horror. "Is it _true_?"

Dumbledore only motioned toward a chair. "Please, Mr. Malfoy, sit down."

Draco didn't sit. He bit the inside of his lip in an attempt to keep his composure and glared. After a moment Dumbledore folded his hands in front of him and shook his head.

"No, she is not dying," he said. Draco let out a slow, relieved breath, but Dumbledore continued, "She is, however, very ill. There is significant concern for her mental health, but she will probably not die."

"_Probably_?" Draco repeated incredulously. "She _probably_ won't die? What sort of answer is that?"

"An answer given by a medical community that is still unsure of the full effects of magic on the human mind," Dumbledore said. "Miss Weasley is in the best hands, and we are doing all we can to help her. But we sail in poorly charted waters at best, and we still don't know exactly how Voldemort was able to do what he did to her. We may never know. In the meantime, Miss Weasley is being kept isolated and for the most part, sedated. Time may be the best cure for her."

Draco exhaled heavily and turned away to stare at the bookcases. That wasn't the answer he'd wanted. He'd wanted to hear that Granger was wrong, that Ginny was fine and doing well, and that the only reason he hadn't seen her was because her stupid family was being overprotective.

"Draco," Dumbledore said, his voice gentle. "I'm sorry the news isn't better, but they are doing all they can for her. She will recover in time. But until then, she needs to be kept away from anything that might do her harm, which seems mostly to be other people. Even her own family, to some extent. She is...curiously affected by the emotions of others, particularly strong emotions, and currently the best way to protect her is to watch her carefully and keep her isolated. That's why Madam Pomfrey chose to send her home."

Draco nodded "Will she—" he began, and stopped to clear his throat. "She will be all right, won't she?"

"I have great faith that she will be," Dumbledore said. "Now please, sit down. As it happens, there's something else I'd like to discuss with you."

Draco let himself be waved into a chair and waited while Dumbledore gathered up a handful of papers and tapped them into a neat pile.

"Now," he said, setting the papers down on his blotter. "I have been discussing the matter of next year's staff appointments with several officials at the Ministry, and they have agreed to allow me to offer you the position of Potions professor next year."

After the news about Ginny, this second shock left Draco momentarily speechless. With all the fuss the Ministry had made about his presence at Hogwarts, they wanted to offer him a _job_?

"How nice of them," he sneered finally. "I suppose they want me where they can keep an eye on me."

Dumbledore chose to ignore his tone. "That is a factor. But the students have done very well under your tutelage, and the Ministry recognizes that. As do I." He gave Draco a look over the tops of his glasses. "You would be doing us a service if you chose to stay. Skilled Potions teachers are difficult to find."

"Do I really have a choice?" Draco asked, not bothering to disguise the bitterness in his voice. "It isn't as though I have anywhere else to go, is it?"

"I don't want you to feel like a prisoner here," Dumbledore said. "Or to feel that you haven't any other choices. You are free to stay or go as you wish."

"Go _where_?" Draco burst out before he could stop himself. "Mother's run off, I haven't got a home to go back to, Father is—is—" He shut his mouth with a snap, unwilling even to say it, to admit that he still cared what Father thought of him, even now. He took a deep breath to steady himself and went on. "I doubt I would be welcome at Malfoy Manor, or anywhere else. If I _have_ other choices, I don't know what they are."

Dumbledore didn't say anything for a long moment; he bowed his head over the papers on his desk, looking weary and older than Draco had ever seen him. "I'm afraid I don't know what to say," he said finally. "The Ministry is fallible, as any institution made up of humans will be. I do not necessarily agree with what they have done, just as I cannot agree with much of what has happened during this war. It isn't fair for the Ministry to treat you with suspicion for things your father has done, but they do what they feel is best."

Draco shrugged. It was all well and good to say that the Ministry was fallible, but it wasn't Dumbledore's life they were putting restrictions on. He didn't want to end up trapped doing something he'd hate, like Professor Snape. But he didn't have any other options. He stood up, shaking out his robes.

"I'd be delighted to take the position," he said acidly. Dumbledore nodded, and Draco turned to go. He was sure there were other things that should be discussed, but they could bloody well wait.

~*~

Once Bill began bringing books, Ginny's days improved immensely. With him in the room Mum was much less likely to fuss, and a steady stream of the flowery romances that Fleur loved kept Ginny entertained—Bill, too, when she could convince him to let her read the juicer parts out loud, in a breathy mock-passionate voice that set them both howling. Bill often seemed like he was chafing at the restrictions placed on Ginny's actions almost as much as she was. He spent one rousing afternoon teaching her how to play Dragon Poker, and Ginny won a bundle of Chocolate Frog cards and a promise of several boxes of Honeydukes chocolate off him before Mum was drawn upstairs by their uproarious laughter and made him stop.

Bill bore Mum's scolding with good grace, and winked at Ginny as he gathered up the cards. "I'll teach you Blackjack tomorrow," he said after Mum bustled back downstairs. "And I think Fleur's got a few more books you can have if you like."

"That'd be grand. But you know what'd be better? If you could smuggle me up a quill and paper without Mum knowing," she said. "Even if I can't see anyone, at least I can write letters."

Bill hesitated, but Ginny put on her best pleading face and tried to look pitiable. "All right," he said reluctantly. "But don't tell Mum, or she'll have my head. And you'll have to let me read them before you mail them off, _and _you have to let me read the replies before you see them."

"Oh, come _on_!"

"No, Gin, you have to. I'm not doing it just to be a git, it's because we're not supposed to upset you. I don't want to have to explain to Mum if you have a relapse because I've let someone mail you something you're not ready for."

Ginny huffed sulkily. "What harm can it be for me to get a _letter_? You know that doesn't make any sense."

"I don't make the rules," Bill replied with a shrug. "I just enforce 'em. Mediwizard's orders that you're not supposed to have contact with anyone until they're sure you're back to normal. And that means that you don't get to read anything or see anyone that hasn't been approved first."

"That's ridiculous. I feel fine!"

"But you're _not_ fine. Please don't argue, Ginny, it's for your own good. I'll bring you ink and quill, but you give me the letters before you send them, and I see any replies you get before you read them." Bill gave her a firm look. "I'm not going to be responsible for you being ill again."

Ginny sighed, but she didn't have any choice but to agree. Next day, as promised, he arrived and pulled several short quills and two tiny bottles of ink out of a pocket and a sheaf of blank paper from his robes.

"You're brilliant!" she whispered, and Bill grinned.

"Anything for my favourite sister," he replied, and laughed when she threatened to hit him with her pillow. She spent most of that afternoon composing long letters to Colin and to Zoë, which Bill read over before pocketing them before he left for home at dinnertime.

"I'll mail these out for you, then," he said with a wink. "And I'll be telling your friends to mail me directly, just in case you had any ideas. I'll bring the replies along when I get them."

Ginny nodded in resignation. He'd left the ink and quills though, squirreled away in Ginny's desk, and she normally had evenings to herself after supper. Sneaking out of her room and stealing down to the kitchen was more challenging than writing an illicit letter to Draco, but a dozen midnight raids on the icebox stood her in good stead, and the headaches hadn't affected her memory of which stairs and floorboards squeaked.

Pigwidgeon was snoozing beside Errol on their perch, having arrived from Hogwarts with a letter to Mum from Ron (that she hadn't been allowed to see), but he woke readily enough when Ginny prodded him gently. She shushed him when he cooed in greeting, then had to jump as he leapt off the perch to flutter excitedly around her head.

"C'mon, Pig," she whispered. "Be a good boy and I'll give you an owl treat." Finally he settled where Ginny could grab him and hand over her letter to Draco. "Now, make sure he gets that. Don't give it to anyone else, understand?"

Pig hooted happily, weighed down by the thick parchment tied to one small leg. Ginny smiled and eased the window open, shooing Pig outside, where he took to the air in a mad display of swoops and dips. She watched him until he was well out of sight, her heart lighter than it had been since before the battle.

~*~

Draco poked at the eggs and sausage on his plate, ignoring the murmur of voices rising from the tables where the students usually sat. Now, of course, they were full of Aurors and Ministry people and those wounded who were able to leave their beds and come to the Great Hall for breakfast. He got to sit at the Head table, which meant that despite the discomfort of having a room full of people staring at him he had a better seat than Potter, Granger and Weasley. They still sat at the Gryffindor table as though they were students. It was a petty thing to be happy about, but Draco wasn't picky about where he found his amusements these days. A series of hoots and the rustling sound of many wings heralded the arrival of the morning post. Draco barely glanced up; there wasn't much point, since he didn't get mail.

Therefore it was a bit of a shock when a tiny, fluffy bird dropped out of the flock of owls and cannonballed into the top of his head. Draco winced and swore under his breath, staring at the thing, which swooped around his head. After a moment it ceased its mad aerial dance and settled onto the table in front of him, hopping from side to side as though too excited to stand still. It was carrying a much-folded letter, which Draco detached from its leg while it vibrated with suppressed energy, hooting all the while. Draco fed it a bit of cracker and it flitted off toward the student tables, to settle on Weasley's outraged head and nibble at his hair.

Weasley glared at him, and Draco couldn't help the smirk that crept across his face. If it was Weasley's owl, then he knew who the letter was from. Draco stuffed the square of parchment into his pocket; he wasn't about to read Ginny's first letter to him _here_, in front of half the Aurors in Britain, the whole staff, and her brother.

He pushed his plate aside, ignoring the knowing glance Professor McGonagall favoured him with and left the hall, and retreated to the sanctuary of his room in the dungeons. No one came to see him here, so he was guaranteed some peace while he sat on the edge of his bed and unfolded the parchment.

_Dear Draco,_

I'm sorry I haven't been able to write you before now, but Mum seems to think I can't even hold a quill on my own yet. I had to get Bill to smuggle paper and ink in to me so I could write letters, and as it is Bill's insisting I let him read them. He's not reading this one, I'm sending it with Pig at night so he won't know. I don't know if you've heard but I've been sick for a little while. I don't think it's serious, but I get headaches and have to take an awful tasting potion that knocks me right out. For the longest time it hurt to even think about things, but I'm feeling much better now, though Mum doesn't believe me. I haven't been allowed out of bed for ages. Bill brings me books and magazines, so I've been reading a lot, but it's still boring.

I've missed my NEWTs, though Bill says that everyone else missed theirs too—that they've been canceled. I suppose that's good news, but to be truthful I'm disappointed. All that studying for nothing! I bet Colin's pleased...he wasn't looking forward to sitting for them. I hope everything is well at Hogwarts. Mum says Ron and Harry and Hermione are still at Hogwarts, so I imagine you see them regularly. Tell me if Ron looks ill, will you? No one will tell me. I don't see why they don't come home. No one's here, just me and Bill. I heard from Bill that the twins are doing well, but I've had no word at all about Charlie or Percy, and no one's been to see me or anything. I'm starting to get worried, so frankly, anything you can tell me would be brilliant.

That's all I've really got to say. Like I said, I'm not even allowed out of bed, so I don't have any exciting tales. I'm sure you'd be riveted by a detailed description of my wallpaper. Mum has offered to teach me how to knit, and I'm almost bored enough to take her up on it. I've been quizzing her on when I'll be allowed to start applying for jobs and things and she keeps trying to put me off. It's terribly frustrating.

I miss you dreadfully, and I hope you're well...I haven't heard one way or the other, but someone would have mentioned it if you weren't. Has Dumbledore offered to let you stay on there, or are you planning to leave after the summer? You'll have to tell me everything!

Love,

Ginny

P.S. If you write me back, try to send your post at night, and make sure to tell the owl to send it directly to me. Bill's supposed to be intercepting my letters and reading them before he gives them to me, but I'd really rather he didn't read yours.

 

Draco read the letter over twice, then ran one finger over the words _I miss you dreadfully_, unable to stop the smile that crept over his face, or the warm rush of pleasure that spread through his chest. Maybe Granger and Dumbledore had exaggerated her illness after all, if she was well enough to write.

He folded the letter carefully and went over to his desk, where he placed it into the top drawer. He didn't have anything pressing to do—he'd write her back immediately, and send it off with a school owl after dark. It was a pity that his old eagle owl was one of the things he'd had to leave behind when he left the Manor, but the school owls would do just as well, and perhaps Ginny would write again. Draco smiled as he pulled his quill and ink toward him, and set to writing.

~*~


	11. Chapter 11

The next day was an even better treat for Ginny. Mum finally relented and let her relocate from her bed to the couch in the drawing room. She wasn't allowed to do anything strenuous, but the change of scenery was heartening. Late in the afternoon Bill sidled into the room and dropped several folded-up pieces of parchment on her lap with a wink.

"Don't tell Mum," he mouthed at her, and ambled back into the kitchen. Unfolded, the parchments turned out to be replies from Zoë and Colin. Zoë's was full of tales of her summer and her plans for applying to the Ministry for job training. Colin's was more light-hearted as he detailed his first days at the Daily Prophet--they'd hired him as a junior reporter, and from the sounds of things he was having the time of his life.

Ginny could tell that there were things her friends were carefully not saying, in the way they'd written around mention of anything related to the war or her brothers or--in Zoë's case--Draco. She stomped down hard on the bitter streak of frustration and folded the letters up to tuck them into her book so Mum wouldn't see. She was happy to hear from them at all; letters were a much welcomed respite from novels or Quidditch magazines.

She could barely sleep that night from excitement; Draco should have got her letter this afternoon, and with any luck he'd write her back tonight. She pushed all thought of doubt out of her mind; he _would_ write to her.

Just after midnight, a tawny owl settled on her open windowsill, with a letter secured to its leg. Ginny grinned and pulled the letter off, giving the bird a few owl treats in payment. She paid no attention as the owl flew away, her full attention on the letter. She nearly ripped the paper in her eagerness to unfold it.

_Dear Ginny,_

I am pleased to hear from you, and to hear that you are doing better. From your letter, it seems you think your illness wasn't serious, but it was. And still is, as far as I'm aware. Professor Dumbledore told me they were worried you might die directly after the battle; they whisked you out of Hogwarts straightaway and didn't tell anyone where they'd taken you for the longest time. I'm sure you're fine now, but it was a near thing. I suppose it's for the best that you're not allowed to see anyone--I expect they want you to get better before you do. But I am glad you could write to me. I don't get much news here, so I'm pleased to hear from you.

The school is still over-run with Aurors and they seem to be using the Hospital wing as some sort of extension of St. Mungo's, so there are a lot of wounded people about. They seem to be thinning out as time goes on, so I'm sure it will be back to normal soon. Professor McGonagall isn't very happy about it, I understand. I think she misses having her summers free of responsibility for other people.

Your brother is fine, to the best of my knowledge. He and Potter are still here, and although they were both injured in the battle and spent some time in the Hospital wing, they are well enough now to play Quidditch and eat in the Great Hall. Whatever has happened to them, it wasn't permanent. I haven't seen any of your other brothers, although gossip says that Percy Weasley is at the Ministry in London, so he must be all right. I can't imagine they'd let him work if he wasn't. Certainly Potter, Granger and your brother aren't doing anything constructive.

I am well. Like you, I haven't been doing anything exciting. I keep the Hospital wing stocked with potions and that's about it. I have been offered the position of Potions Master at Hogwarts next year, and since I cannot think of any pressing reason not to, I have accepted. It should be exactly as much fun as it sounds. NEWTs were canceled, as you said, but no one seemed to mind. I suppose they feel that it's only fair, since the school was attacked.

Please write again if you're able to. It's been difficult hearing second-hand news. I hope when you're well enough you'll be able to visit me. Or I could travel to you, since I've been given the freedom to leave Hogwarts if I wish.

Love,  
Draco

Ginny's cheeks were starting to ache from smiling so hard; she read through the letter twice more before she doused the light. Mum came by to check on her at night, she knew, and she definitely didn't want to get caught. She hid the letter between the mattress and headboard on her bed. It wasn't the most secure hiding spot, but it was certainly better than leaving it out where anyone might find it.

She was hard-pressed to hide her giddiness from Mum and Bill the next day, and sneaking down to send another letter that night was too easy. She used Bill's owl, Antaios this time, sending him off with strict instructions to be back before dawn, so Bill wouldn't notice he'd gone.

Draco wrote her back again the next night, and from there they developed a pattern of writing every day. His letters were like a delightful secret, something that was just hers, that didn't need to be shared with anyone else. There were some things Draco couldn't tell her--he hadn't heard anything about Charlie, for instance--but he could and did share what he knew about the end of the war, about Ron and Harry and Hermione, and a little more about the state of the world outside her house. Even the crumbs of information he could give her helped, easing the frustration that built with every dismissal she got from Bill and Mum when she tried to ask questions.

She and Bill were spending another afternoon playing Exploding Snap on the couch while Mum cleaned house. "We should probably clean up," Bill said after the umpteenth game. "It's almost dinner time, and I can't hear Mum any more. She must be finished with her tidying by now."

Ginny nodded and scooped up the cards spread over the table in front of the sofa, shoving them back in their box and gathering up her pillow. Bill followed her up the stairs, his arms full of books and blankets. She stopped short at her bedroom door, nearly causing Bill to stumble over her. Mum was standing beside her bed, holding a fistful of parchments. Even from across the room, the handwriting was unmistakable.

She'd found Draco's letters.

"What," Mum asked, trying to keep her voice level, "are these?"

Ginny exchanged a horrified glance with Bill, who had gone pale under his freckles. She only hoped that he couldn't tell that the letters in question weren't the ones he'd vetted for her.

"_Well_?"

"They're letters," Ginny said. "From Colin and Zoë. Bill brought me writing supplies so I could write to them."

Instead of being deflected, Mum seemed to grow even more infuriated. "Oh, indeed?" she snapped. "Well, if they're from your friends, missy, then why do all of these seem to be from someone named Draco?"

Bill made a strangled noise, and Ginny felt herself flush. "He's a friend too."

"If he is, why haven't I ever heard you talk about him? The only Draco I've ever heard mentioned is that boy that Ron and Harry dislike so much. I hope they're not from the son of that _awful_ man!"

Ginny stiffened. "If you mean Draco Malfoy, then yes, they are."

"Letters from Colin and Zoë I could understand, but _this_!" Mum waved one of the letters over her head. "Writing to a _Malfoy_!" She wheeled on Bill, who backed up a step. "How could you let her do this?"

"I didn't know!" he protested. "All I did was lend her paper and ink, and I made her give me all her letters before she sent them! The only ones I saw were from her friends...she never told me she was sending letters to this bloke!" He cast a reproachful glance at Ginny. "I didn't think she'd go sneaking off behind my back...I _knew_ there'd be trouble."

"Well there wouldn't have been if Mum wasn't being a snoop!" Ginny snapped. "Since when is it all right for you to go through my things?"

"Don't you take that tone with me, young lady! As long as you're under this roof--" The door opening cut Mum off in mid-rant, and she whirled toward this new target.

It was Dad, patting his pockets absently. "Molly, have you seen my wand? I could have sworn I had it in my pocket, but it's vanished completely."

"I haven't the foggiest, Arthur, and it's hardly important!" Mum yelled. "Perhaps _you_ can talk some sense into your daughter, since she's so determined to ruin her health at every turn!"

"Mum!" Ginny protested, but it fell on deaf ears.

"What's this?" Dad said. "What've you done?"

"Nothing!"

"I found letters hidden behind her mattress!" Mum shouted, brandishing the sheaf of paper. "Letters! And you'll never guess who they're from, Arthur! She's been sneaking 'round, deliberately trying to ruin her health, _lying_ to us..."

Dad raised his eyebrows in concern. "You aren't really, are you Ginny? You know you're not supposed to be talking to people. You're not even supposed to be out of bed yet. Your mother's told you that!"

"My mother hasn't told me anything," Ginny said icily. She reached out and snatched her letters from Mum, who wasn't fast enough to stop her. "And neither has anyone else. At least _some_ people are willing to share information with me, even if none of you are."

Mum looked about ready to explode, but Dad reached out and placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. "There's no need for everyone to get upset," he said, and glanced at Mum in a significant manner. "Why don't you have a seat, Molly, and we'll talk about this calmly?"

Bill gave up his chair and Dad guided Mum into it as Bill retreated to lean against the dresser. Ginny settled on her bed, leaning back against her pillows. She clutched Draco's letters tightly in one hand, feeling more than a bit put upon.

"Now," Dad said to Ginny. "Why don't you tell us what this is about?"

She bit her lip nervously and glanced over at Bill. He stared back impassively--there was no help from that quarter. "Bill brought me quill and ink and paper, but he only knew about the letters to Zoë and Colin, like he said. He read them before I mailed them, and they sent their replies back to him so he could read them before he gave them to me. It's not his fault. These," she raised Draco's letters, "are from...from Draco. Draco Malfoy. He's at Hogwarts, teaching Potions. He's been there all year, and I haven't talked to him in ages, so I wrote to see how he was, and he's been writing me back."

Mum moaned and put a hand to her forehead. Dad flushed an odd brick colour. "That was a bit foolish," he said after a moment, his voice very even. "Writing letters to Lucius Malfoy's son."

"Not that foolish," Ginny muttered. "And anyway, Draco's not anything like his father. We're...friends. Sort of."

"Oh, now, that doesn't sound very likely," Dad laughed. "Friends with a Malfoy...not _my_ daughter."

"He's not that bad," Ginny said through clenched teeth.

"Bad or not, it's not as though you'll do it again," Dad said. "No need to go writing to people like him, is there? We'll tell you everything you need to know."

"It's funny. You keep saying you'll tell me things, but the only person who actually has is Draco," Ginny said tightly. "He had all sorts of interesting things to say in his letters. And I think I'm old enough now to choose who I want to see, thanks."

Dad stiffened. "You're not that old yet, miss, and I'll thank you not to take that tone. I don't want you talking to that boy. You've no idea what sort of things he's been up to, what sort of people he might know...why, for all we know he might be a spy!"

"He is not a spy, and he isn't a Death Eater, either," Ginny snapped. "And I should bloody well know, because he's my boyfriend!"

For a moment, Bill and her parents froze in a perfect tableau of shock. Then Dad broke the silence with an incredulous laugh.

"Your _boyfriend_. You don't expect us to believe that!"

Ginny shot upright in the bed, her temper rising. "You can believe it or not as you like, but it's true. I've been seeing him for almost a year."

"You can't possibly be serious," Dad said slowly, his voice shaking. Ginny had only seen Dad in a temper like this a few times; Mum was usually the one who lost her head. "The day _my daughter_ lowers herself to scum like a Malfoy--"

"He is not scum!" Ginny shouted. "Don't you call him names in front of me! He hasn't done anything wrong!"

Dad twisted his face up, his hands clenching into fists. "You know who his family are, Ginny. You know what his father did to you. If you think that I will simply stand aside while the son of that...that..._Death Eater_ tries to steal you away from under my very nose, you're very wrong indeed! I don't believe you would be so foolish!"

"I am not being foolish! You are, if you think that Draco is the same person his father is! He wasn't on Voldemort's side in the battle, he was on ours! He saved my life!" Ginny inhaled deeply to steady herself, bracing herself against the pain in her head. "Dumbledore trusted him enough to let him teach the students. I don't see why you can't!"

"Letting him teach is a sight different from letting him--letting him--it's not the same thing at all! He is a totally inappropriate person for you to be exchanging letters with, and I refuse to allow it! You'll not see him as long as I'm able to prevent it!"

"You can't stop me!"

"I bloody well can," Dad shouted. "You are not going to talk to him anymore! Not as long as you are a member of this family!"

Ginny drew in a sharp breath, half in pain and half at his words. "Then I reckon you'll have to disown me," she ground out.

Dad stared at her for a brief second, breathing harshly, before he spun around and marched out, slamming the door behind him with a crash. Mum made a small, distressed noise and followed him.

Ginny slumped down in the bed, curling into a ball with her hands pressed to her eyes. Her head felt like it was going to explode.

"Ginny," Bill said cautiously. "C'mon Gin, don't--"

"Go away," she whispered. After a moment she heard his footsteps retreat and the door open, then close. The pain receded a bit, enough to let her reach for the bottle of sleeping potion on her bedside table and measure out a small dose with shaking hands. For once she actually _wanted_ its swift withdrawal of consciousness.

Maybe things would look better when she woke.

*

Bill was sitting in the chair beside her bed when the potion wore off late in the night. He offered her a crooked grin and a glass of water, which Ginny drank gratefully. Her mouth tasted like something had died in it.

She finished her water and handed the glass silently back. Bill took it and set it down on the bed table, then leaned back in his chair and cocked his head at her.

"Want to talk about it?"

"Not particularly," Ginny muttered. "Is Dad still mad at me?"

"Well, if you mean is he still stomping around and muttering, yeah. I'm sure he'll stop eventually."

"He'd better."

"Gin," Bill said, and stopped. He looked like he was weighing his words carefully. "I think Dad might have a point. He's known the Malfoys for a long time, and if he says they're not to be trusted, then I'm inclined to take his word for it." He held up a hand as Ginny opened her mouth to protest. "Now, I'm not saying you're wrong either. Just that you might want to take his point of view into consideration."

"There's nothing to consider," Ginny snapped. "I _know_ Draco. I know him a lot better than Dad, and he's not the same as his parents. He wasn't a follower of You Know Who, he never did anything in the war. He was at Hogwarts the whole time, teaching. Would Professor Dumbledore let him teach if he was really a Death Eater?"

"He might. Dumbledore has reasons for things we don't always know about. And what would he say, if he knew? If this Malfoy's your boyfriend like you say, then something must have happened while he was teaching, and that's not--"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Dumbledore _knows_. He's known practically since the start, so don't tell me that I've done anything he wouldn't approve of," Ginny said. "Just because _Dad_ is determined to be a--"

"Ginny!"

She subsided, leaning back into her pillows. Truth be told, arguing was giving her a headache. Again. "I just don't see what all the fuss is about."

"Oh, I think finding out their baby girl's been carrying on with the son of a Death Eater is enough reason for any mum and dad to raise a fuss," Bill said with a snort.

"I'm not a baby!"

"Not _a_ baby, but you are _the_ baby. They worry about you. And I hate to tell you, but you'll never outgrow that. Just give Dad a bit of time, he'll calm down. Now, do you want something to eat, or are you still tired?"

"Still tired," Ginny admitted grudgingly.

"Need a dose of potion, or can you get to sleep on your own?" Bill asked.

"I'm fine." She prodded at her pillow and lay down again, still feeling sulky. After a moment she turned back to look at him. "Do you think he's going to stay mad?"

"No," Bill replied softly, "don't worry. He'll come around."

Ginny nodded slowly and closed her eyes, hoping he was right.

*

But Dad's acceptance of her announcement didn't come the next day, or the days after. The atmosphere in the house had changed noticeably; the place had been quiet ever since the battle, but now it was eerily so. Bill took over bringing her meals, Mum came to fuss over her sheets and books but didn't stay, and Dad stopped visiting entirely, which stung more than anything else.

"It's because he's upset, and the healers say that high emotions in other people are dangerous for you while you're healing," Bill told her later in the week. "Don't take it so personally."

"He's avoiding me and I'm not supposed to take it personally?" Ginny replied bitterly. "Oh, of course, silly me."

"Ginny..." Bill said warningly. "Try to see it his way, won't you? It was a sudden thing to spring on them, particularly when you were deliberately disobeying orders by reading those letters." He sighed and slouched in the chair, pushing one hand through his hair. "We're not doing this to punish you or be mean, we're just trying to keep from hurting you any more than you already have been."

Ginny blinked in surprise. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that no one knows what's wrong with you, and the healers don't know how to fix it. Whatever spell You Know Who cast on you during the battle did something to your mind, and whatever it was, it made you very open to other people's thoughts and emotions. Like you lost the filter that keeps the auras of other people from affecting you. I don't even really understand it to explain, but you were very sick after the battle, and the more people who were around you the worse you got," Bill said. "Didn't you ever wonder why it's just me and Mum and Dad here? Why the twins aren't, or Percy, or Ron?"

"Well, I wondered, but I just thought--I don't know. That they were busy," Ginny said. "Or that something terrible had happened and you wouldn't tell me."

Bill glanced away at that, but he shook his head. "Nope. They were kept away so that you wouldn't have too many other thoughts and feelings to contend with. For the first week, while you were being kept asleep so much, it was just Mum allowed here. Dad and I stayed at Hogwarts. That's why you're here and not still at school will Ron and the rest."

Ginny leaned back against her headboard, trying to digest his words. "I don't _feel_ like I've been that ill."

"Well, you have been, and in a lot of ways you still are. Which is why Dad's been scarce lately, to avoid making you worse. You can't blame him for having reservations, Gin. Not after everything you've been through...not just during the battle, but before, too." Bill sighed. "And the blame for that can be laid squarely at the feet of Malfoy's father, so maybe you can understand his reaction a little more."

"Draco is not his father!" Ginny protested. "He didn't have anything to do with anything Lucius Malfoy did, and the sooner Dad figures that out, the better!"

"Gin..." Bill said, a warning in his voice. "Give it _time_. All right? You're not going to be able to make Dad change his mind overnight, and fretting over it is only going to make you ill. Let Dad think about things and then you can sort it all out when you're well."

Ginny sighed and nodded grudgingly. She didn't have much of a choice.

*

The next day she came downstairs in her pyjamas to find Mum running around the kitchen in a flurry of activity.

"Back upstairs with you!" she called to Ginny. "Put some robes on, we're going out."

"Out?" Ginny repeated dumbly. "Out where?"

"You've got an appointment with Madam Pomfrey today," Mum said, making shooing motions with her hands. "So we're going to Hogwarts. You can even visit Ron, won't that be nice?"

Ginny opened her mouth and shut it again, unsure of what to say. She went back upstairs to change, and several minutes later she and Mum were dusting themselves off in the anteroom of the Hogwarts hospital wing. Mum tucked her hand under Ginny's elbow and pulled her over to where Madam Pomfrey was waiting.

"Hello, Poppy, hope we're not too late."

"Not at all, Molly. Just come this way, and we'll have a look," Madam Pomfrey replied, gesturing them into another small room off the main ward. She motioned Ginny to sit on the low cot. "Now, then, why don't you tell me how you're feeling? You certainly look better than you did last time I saw you."

Ginny shrugged at this--she didn't remember that last time. "I'm doing better, I think," she said cautiously. "I mean, my headaches are improving, and I'm not sleeping as much."

Madam Pomfrey nodded and prodded at Ginny with her wand, muttering thoughtfully under her breath. After a few moments of that, she straightened up and nodded.

"Well, you do seem improved," Madam Pomfrey said. "I'd say a couple more weeks of rest are in order, but you can probably move up to having visitors very shortly. Just take things slowly, and if you find you're getting more frequent headaches, cut back on interaction with people. You've still only got the older boy at home?" she said to Mum, who nodded.

"Yes, it's just Bill and Arthur. The twins and Percy are in London, and Ron is here, of course," she replied. Madam Pomfrey looked as though she was going to say something, then they both glanced at Ginny and exchanged a glance.

"What about--" Ginny began, but Mum shook her head and stood up.

"If we're done here, why don't you go down to the Great Hall, Ginny, while finish we up here?" she said. "I'll meet you there in a few minutes, and it'll give you a chance to catch up with your brother and Harry and Hermione."

Ginny bit down on her questions and nodded, letting herself be shooed into the corridor. She'd leave, all right, if they wanted to keep things from her, but she wasn't going to go to the Great Hall. Once the door had firmly shut behind her, she smiled grimly and made her way down to the dungeons.

~*~

Draco carefully measured a precise amount of valerian into a small cup and tilted it over the simmering cauldron in front of him. He was making a batch of Sleeping draught for Madam Pomfrey, something he could do in his own sleep. The neat rows of bottles that lined the shelves of the work room were half his own making; Snape had kept the room well stocked, but Draco had made inroads into both the potions and supplies in the last few months. In fact, he'd have to make a trip down to Diagon Alley before the school year started to stock up. At least he could do that now, rather than being forced to rely on other people to do his shopping.

He was mentally composing a list of things he needed when he heard the soft scrape of the door opening. He glanced up in surprise; almost no one bothered him here, and he was used to working undisturbed.

Ginny was standing in the doorway.

"Hello," she said.

Draco gaped at her. "Hello," he replied stupidly. A million things flitted across his mind, but he couldn't grasp at any thought and put it to words. She was _here_.

Here, and looking thin and very pale, not at all like her usual self. Her face was narrower, her hair a shade duller, dark rings under her eyes. She clasped her hands nervously in front of her and gave him a tentative smile. "I wasn't sure you'd be here," she said. "I couldn't ask...I'm not supposed to be down here. Mum sent me to the Great Hall."

"Oh." There was a long pause as Draco cursed himself and tried to think of something, _anything_, to say. "What...what are you doing here?"

Ginny raised her eyebrows, seeming torn between amusement and uncertainty. "Coming to see you?"

"I know _that_, I meant--why are you at Hogwarts? I thought you were still at home."

"Had an appointment to see Madam Pomfrey. And Mum went off to talk to her in private and told me that I should go find Ron and Harry, except I thought I'd come down and see you instead." She paused, twisting her hands nervously again. "I can go, if you want me to."

"No! I mean--no. Don't go." Draco fumbled for his wand and poked at the fire under his cauldron, which went out, then came around the table. Ginny smiled for real, her face lighting up. She lifted her hands toward him as he approached, and he wrapped his arms around her and hid his face in her hair, hardly daring to breathe in case he really was dreaming. Desire and relief curled in his chest, mingling with the solid warmth of her body nestled against his.

Ginny pulled away first, but not far; she rested her arms around his waist and smiled up at him, her eyes sparkling. "I missed you," she said shyly. "All summer they wouldn't let me talk to anyone, and all I wanted was to be able to see you again."

"I missed you too," he whispered roughly, not trusting himself to speak any louder. Ginny nodded once, swaying toward him, and then they were kissing and it was as though they'd never been apart, as though the past months of strain and worry and fighting hadn't happened.

They parted reluctantly, and Ginny reached up to smooth a lock of his hair, tucking it behind his ear. "You need a haircut," she said, and laughed as he made a face at her.

"There's nothing wrong with my hair," he said. "And anyway, you've never complained before."

"I'm not complaining. I'm just pointing it out." She grinned again. "But that's beside the point. How are you? I mean, you said in your letters, but I want to know _everything_. About taking on teaching again this year and all. Have you talked to your parents? Surely they wouldn't make you stay here now that the war is over."

Of course, she didn't know, having spent the last month or so sheltered at her house, unaware of events. Draco kicked at a raised flagstone and shook his head. "Well, Mother's on the Continent visiting relatives. She hasn't written, but I know the Ministry wants to question her. And my father...he's dead."

"Oh," she said very quietly. Some complex emotion flickered behind her eyes. "I'm sorry."

Draco jerked one shoulder in an attempt at casualness. "I'd sort of expected it. It doesn't matter."

Ginny inhaled sharply, her face stricken. "Of course it matters! It--it--oh!" She flung her arms around him, burying her head in his shoulder.

Draco wrapped his own arms around her and closed his eyes, fighting against the painful lump rising in his throat, not wanting to give in to that weakness. He re-opened his eyes with an effort and ran his hand through her hair instead, letting the copper strands twist around his fingers. If he concentrated hard enough on that--on the bright red-gold of her hair, the feel of her slight body against his--the horrible feeling that he might cry in front of her would fade.

He was concentrating so hard on controlling his own emotions that it took a moment for him to realize that Ginny was sobbing quietly into his shoulder.

"Don't," he whispered, horrified. "Don't _cry_. Ginny, don't."

"M'sorry," she mumbled through another sob. "I can't help it." She pulled away and wiped at her cheeks. Draco lifted her up and sat her on the edge of the work table, then pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to her. "Thanks," she said, using it to wipe at her eyes. "Mum's going to kill me. Madam Pomfrey just said that I could see people as long as I didn't upset myself, and what do I do very first thing but act like a waterworks."

"I didn't mean to--" he began awkwardly, but she waved a hand at him.

"It's not your fault," Ginny said. "It's just...I don't know. Bill told me that because of the spell on me from--from Voldemort, I've lost my ability to filter out strong emotions. I'm feeling loads better than I used to, but I get a bit overwhelmed sometimes. Though I don't usually cry...it gives me a horrible headache."

"Headache? What sort of headache?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Like a pain in my head. A headache. And then I have to go lie down, and they give me some sort of potion, and it tastes absolutely awful and puts me right to sleep," she said. "Which I can't exactly do here."

"Some sort of combination of gastrodia and linden, I'd guess," Draco said automatically, ignoring her insolent tone. Headaches were something he could fix. "And valerian, if they're putting you to sleep with it. Probably some sort of mental suppresser too, to keep you from picking up emotions from other people. Though I don't know why they don't just give you skullcap, or a modified Cephalaea potion. It'd probably work just as well. And taste better." He turned to glance over the shelves, searching for the flask of Cephalaea potion he was sure he had.

Ginny giggled behind him. "If you say so."

Draco ignored her laughter with as much dignity as he could muster. "Here," he said when he'd located the bottle he was looking for. "Try a bit of this, and see if it helps."

Ginny grinned again, but obligingly let him administer a spoonful of potion. "It does taste better," she said after she'd swallowed. He could see the faint lines of pain fade from her face as the potion did its work, and she sighed with relief. "Oh, that _is_ better."

Draco nodded, satisfied. Ginny laughed and twisted her hands in his robes, pulling him closer. "_Much_ better," she whispered, hooking her ankles around the backs of his knees. Draco groaned softly and leaned in to kiss her again, one hand rising to cup the back of her head.

She made a soft, hungry noise that went straight to Draco's groin, and he moved closer without thinking, pressing his body against hers. Being able to touch her like this after so long was dizzying. She slid her up over his shoulders and around his neck, leaning into him. But too soon she was lifting her mouth from his again, putting a few inches of distance between them. "We can't," she said breathlessly. "We don't--we can't. Not now."

Draco groaned and dropped his head, resting his forehead on her shoulder. "Give me a good reason why not," he murmured, only half-joking.

"Well for starters, we don't really have time."

Draco muffled a snort of laughter. "It wouldn't take that long."

Ginny snickered and poked him in the ribs. "I bet. I'd rather not settle for a thirty second shag on the table you chop shrivelfigs on, if it's all the same to you. Not to mention Mum's going to be looking for me. In fact, I should probably go," she said, sighing. "She's angry enough with me as it is, about this."

Draco lifted his head and looked at her in astonishment. "You told your parents?"

"Not exactly told. More like they found out." She ducked her head, the faint unhappy lines around her eyes returning. "My dad's not what you'd call pleased."

"Oh." Draco said. He wasn't really surprised; he thought Ginny's blithe assurance that her family would welcome him was unrealistic, to say the least. "Is it...are they angry?"

Ginny shrugged one shoulder. "I don't know. Bill says they'll come around, but it's been days, and Dad's still avoiding me. They say it's because he doesn't want to upset me, except all that means is that he's too angry to look at me." She sighed unhappily. "I want to just _go_ places, and do things, and not have to sit around and wait for some unspecified time in the future to be _well_, whatever that means. I _hate_ this!"

"Well, I'd rather see you frustrated and well than gone completely 'round the bend because you're pushing yourself," Draco said. "So if it means letting your father avoid you, it's probably for the best. I don't want you to end up locked in St. Mungo's or something."

That made her smile and raise one hand to rest against his cheek. "Thanks," she said, and Draco felt himself flush. It made her smile widen, and she pulled him forward to kiss him soundly before releasing him again. He helped her off the table, smirking a little as she wobbled before finding her feet. She glowered at him, but the effect was ruined by the happy little smile she couldn't quite suppress. Draco grinned unrepentantly and took her hand, leading her to the door.

"You'll still write to me, won't you?" Ginny asked. "I mean, they're hacked off at me, but they can't really _do_ anything, and I like your letters."

"Of course," Draco said. He leaned in to kiss her one last time, trying to imprint her taste and scent on his mind before she left. She squeezed his hand and made her way down the corridor toward the stairs, pausing once to wave. He waved back and watched her until she was out of sight.

*

The weather turned after Ginny's visit, the warmth of summer vanishing in a series of cold, wet days that felt like autumn come early. The castle had been emptying out as the summer progressed, and the wounded that were left hunkered down in whatever rooms had fireplaces, wrapped in blankets and sweaters against the unseasonable chill.

Draco finally bowed to necessity when his breath started condensing in the air in the mornings. He pulled the sweater Ginny had given him for Christmas--the only such garment he owned now--out of the back of his wardrobe and put it on, examining his reflection in the mirror on the back of the wardrobe door. It looked bloody ridiculous of course, even after he shortened the sleeves with a spell, but it _was_ warm. And after all, it had been a gift from Ginny, and if he was feeling particularly soppy he could admit that it made him feel a bit like she was closer to him.

Not that he'd be caught dead wearing the thing anywhere that anyone could see him.

Thankfully people seldom came down to the dungeons, and he could move between his rooms and his office and work room without having to worry about encountering anyone. It had been suggested that he take Snape's old quarters, tucked behind his office, but Draco was resisting. He wasn't quite ready to admit that Snape wasn't really coming back, and he certainly didn't want the thankless task of going through his old teacher's effects.

It was warmer in the potions lab than it was just about anywhere else, so Draco took to eating meals there, in between working on various projects and writing letters to Ginny. He didn't send half the letters he wrote to her. Many ended up in the back of his desk drawer or consigned to the fireplace as being far too soppy. He had a reputation to maintain, after all. He wasn't about to start writing pap, no matter _who_ the letters were for.

But before letter writing came his potions projects--Draco had agreed to keep working on brewing Wolfsbane potion, as well as a number of other advanced recipes for Dumbledore, and Draco spent almost as much time doing research as he did actually brewing potions. He had to admit he enjoyed actually making potions, even if teaching others how wasn't his favourite thing in the world.

Draco sat up straight, stretching the kinks out of his back from bending too long over his desk. It was growing late, and he could finish reading his latest book on advanced potions just as well in the comfort of his own room, in a proper chair in front of a proper fire. He gathered up his book and tucked it under one arm, giving the office a quick once-over before letting himself into the corridor.

He swore under his breath when he turned toward his rooms. Potter, Granger and Weasley were standing at the end of the hall for some reason, having some sort of conversation, although none of them were looking in his direction yet. Draco reached back for the doorknob. Maybe he could duck back into the room...

But then Granger turned, and it was too late to do any such thing. Her eyes swept over him, then went back and lingered on his chest, her eyebrows rising. Draco could feel an embarrassed flush creeping up his cheeks. To try to hide the sweater now would be to acknowledge that he was uncomfortable, and he wasn't about to do that in front of this crowd. He raised his chin, refusing to look away.

After a moment Potter and Weasley realized Granger was distracted and turned to face him too. Draco gripped his book a little tighter and started forward. He'd just ignore them, and perhaps they'd leave him be. He knew it was a vain hope, though, and his suspicion was borne out when they spread out on the stair to block his passage, apparently having decided amongst themselves that this was a good time to give him some sort of ill-thought-out talking to.

"Still writing letters to my sister, Malfoy?" Weasley said with his jaw thrust forward, as Draco came to a stop in front of them.

"What's it to you, Weasley?"

"I'm her _brother_," Weasley snapped. "I've got a bloody right to know!"

"So why don't you ask her?" Draco replied. He was biting the inside of his cheek to keep his temper in check. He'd gone this long without having to talk to the irritating little troika, and he wasn't about to tell them anything now if he didn't have to.

"Ron..." Granger said warningly, and Potter rested a hand on his arm, but Weasley wasn't paying any attention.

"I'm asking _you_," he said to Draco. "Don't think I don't know you're just doing this to be a world-class git. You're using her, aren't you?"

"I've already told your bushy-haired little _friend_ here you haven't any idea what you're talking about," Draco snapped. "So why don't you just shove off?"

"I don't know when this started, but I'll--"

"Nearly a year ago, if you want the truth," Draco interrupted, his temper finally snapping "Although if you want to count from the first time I kissed her, then it's been closer to two." It was quite gratifying to watch Weasley's face twist with outrage, and see Potter and Granger latch onto his arms to hold him back.

"You're a liar!" Weasley shouted.

"The Ministry has already spent considerable resources establishing that I'm _not_," Draco said icily. "And I don't think you're in any position to know one way or the other."

He didn't wait for Weasley to form a response, but turned on his heel and went back to the office, slamming the door with a satisfying bang. He fell back against the door and slid down it, listening for the sound of their retreating footsteps.

It was funny how he kept forgetting how _irritating_ the bunch of them were. Draco stared at his hands, wrapped around his knees. He had the horrible feeling that if he weren't holding onto something, they'd be trembling. It wasn't fair that something as stupid as running into Ginny's brother could set him so off-kilter. He'd been through worse, hadn't he? With his father dying, and Professor Snape dying, and his mother abandoning him for nameless cousins in Europe...

Draco shook his head to stop that train of thought. He'd spent the last month and a half not thinking about that, and he wasn't about to start now. It made him want to break something, or kick something, or...or...Draco blinked, rubbing at his eyes in disgust. He shoved himself to his feet instead, and gathered up his books. They _had_ to be gone by now.

~*~

Ginny floated through the next several days, her good mood only improved by short visits from Fred, George, and even Percy. Thanks to Madam Pomfrey's diagnosis of improvement, Mum had to bow to Ginny's pleading and allow her more freedom. Such freedom didn't extend to letting her out of sight of the house, but she _was _given permission to sit out onto the porch, and it was better than being confined to her room or the drawing room.

Not long after her trip to Hogwarts a package arrived for Mum, containing a note from Madam Pomfrey and a selection of potions for various of her symptoms, labeled in Draco's heavy hand. Mum either didn't recognize the writing or didn't want to mention it; she only exclaimed happily over the box and pinned the note to a cupboard where it wouldn't get lost. The horrible potion Ginny was being dosed with vanished in favour of the new medicines, and if she got a happy little shiver every time she thought of Draco making them for her, she took care not to mention it to anyone.

Several days later, Ron arrived home with Hermione and Harry in tow. Ginny was immeasurably cheered by their appearance; if they were letting Ron come home, it meant _she_ was getting better too. She was even allowed to attend the family supper that night, even though Mum protested that too much excitement might make her ill.

"What difference will it make if I'm at the table or upstairs?" Ginny pointed out while she watched Mum prepare the food. Everyone else had gone out to the garden to de-gnome, and Dad was in his shed. "Either way they're in the house. It's not like I can avoid them."

"Is it so wrong to want you to use a little caution?" Mum snapped, turning away from the stove. "You're not well!"

"If I'm not well, then why'd Madam Pomfrey say it'd be all right for everyone to come home?" Ginny asked. "I'm not _dying_, you know."

That made Mum go white for some reason, and she raised one hand to her mouth. "No," she said, much quieter. "No, you're not." Ginny frowned, trying to decipher this reaction, but Mum turned back to the stove, stirring the contents of one pot vigorously. "Well if you're set on it, then make yourself useful and set the table."

Triumphant, Ginny went to the sideboard to haul plates and cutlery out and place them on the table. Soon afterward everyone came piling in from their various activities and settled around the table. It was a tight fit, even with Percy, Fred, George and Charlie missing.

Which reminded Ginny of something she kept forgetting to ask. "Mum," she said as everyone pulled their chairs up to the table, "where's Charlie?"

Conversation stopped abruptly, and everyone glanced from Mum to Ginny and back again. She raised her eyebrows; they _were_ hiding something from her, they had to be.

"Well, he's off at work," Mum said, looking anywhere but at Ginny. She cleared her throat and picked up the bowl of potatoes, passing it to Harry. "Here, Harry dear, you look like you could use a little more. Why don't you and Hermione tell me what you plan to do now?"

Harry took the bowl with an uncomfortable glance at Ginny. "We hadn't really thought about it yet. There's still plenty of work to be done with the Department, of course."

Ginny frowned again as everyone seized on Harry's words and started talking about the cleanup effort, without another word about Charlie. _Something_ was going on, and to know that her whole family were going to conspire against her like this set frustration seething in her chest. She scooped food sullenly onto her plate and poked at it, ignoring Bill's attempts to draw her into conversation.

"I thought you'd be interested to know they hired Malfoy on to teach Potions next year, Ginny," Hermione said a few moments later. Ginny cringed as the table went silent again, leaving Hermione blinking in surprise. "Professor McGonagall seemed quite pleased about it, actually. I wouldn't have thought so, but there you are."

Ginny wasn't the only one cringing now; Bill ducked his head and Ron had closed his eyes in despair. "Yeah, I heard," she said softly, willing Hermione to shut up.

"Surely we can think of more interesting things to talk about," Dad said in a hard voice.

Hermione raised her eyebrows and opened her mouth, only to snap it shut on an irate squeak. She turned to glare at Harry, who was examining his fork carefully and trying not to look like he'd just kicked her under the table.

"Well, I've been offered my old job at Gringott's, to start at the end of the month,"  
Bill said quickly. "Don't think I mentioned it, Dad, but they're talking about sending me to Mongolia."

"Mongolia!" Mum gasped. "You can't be serious!"

It was an effective subject change, though Hermione still looked outraged. Ginny sighed heavily and picked at her food. The rest of the meal passed without any other incidents, and she was sent up to bed not long after for looking "peaky".

Ginny didn't sleep, though; she knew that shipping her off to bed was just an excuse for the rest of the family to gather in the drawing room and talk about her. She'd have given her right arm for an Extendable Ear, but Fred and George had cleared out all their stock when they set up shop, and Mum had confiscated Ginny's ages ago. She was forced to eavesdrop the hard way, by sitting on the landing above the kitchen and straining to hear what they were saying in the drawing room.

"I thought she was better," Ron was saying. "I mean, I know she's not totally well, but she's not near as ill as she was, is she?"

"No," came Mum's voice in reply. "But there are some things she can't be told yet. She's already come close to one relapse, and we don't want to risk another one!"

"Don't look at me like that, Molly!" Dad said, but his voice dropped too far for Ginny to catch the rest of what he said.

"Well, I'm not convinced that keeping her in the dark is the best way to deal with it. How do we know it won't do her more harm than good when she finds out we've been keeping things from her?" That was Bill, and she thought he sounded frustrated. "And she's already managed to get 'round us once. She might well do it again."

"Yes and whose fault was that!" Mum said shrilly.

"She'd have done it anyway, even if I hadn't brought her quill and ink. She's not stupid, Mum, and she's not one to sit idly around while we try to sugar-coat things for her." Ginny laughed under her breath--she could practically _hear_ Bill rolling his eyes. "I still think it'd be better for her if we just told her."

"Yeah, better than her getting information from _Malfoy_," Ron said.

"Ron..." Mum said warningly, and Ginny could hear Dad making an irritated sound. "And you! What's done is done, Arthur, and your temper isn't helping matters!"

"_My_ temper! Molly, you know what she's--"

"Don't start with that again!"

"Here now!" Bill interrupted loudly. "Enough arguing! It's not helping!"

Both Mum and Dad went quiet, but Ginny didn't think they did it willingly. There was a long pause, and Ginny half-wished she could see their faces, to know what everyone was thinking. Eavesdropping had its limitations.

"Between her and Charlie, I've been at my wit's end," Mum said finally. Ginny held her breath and slid down a step, leaning forward, straining to hear with her whole body.

"How is he?" Hermione asked.

Ginny heard Mum sigh. "He's still the same," she said. "Poppy says he hasn't woken, and she's still not sure if he'll lose his arm. There was lung damage as well. They're talking of sending him to St. Mungo's soon, to see if they can help him there."

Hermione made a sympathetic noise, and their voices dropped again. Ginny frowned. What on earth had _happened_? She risked sliding down a few more stares, listening hard. When Bill entered the kitchen--and really, when had he learned to walk so quietly?--she gave a guilty little jump. He spotted her and rolled his eyes, looking exasperated.

"Bill dear, can you bring the tea out?" Mum called from the other room. Ginny half-rose, tensed to run.

Bill shook his head, a resigned expression on his face. "I'm going to the loo, Mum," he called over his shoulder. "I'll bring it when I come back down."

"All right," Mum called back, and Bill started toward the stairs, motioning Ginny to precede him. He rested his hand on her back as she went, guiding her toward her room. She turned around once they were inside, and raised her eyebrows at him.

"So I guess you heard," he said.

Ginny nodded. "Had to find out somehow, didn't I?"

"I don't think that was the best way for you to hear it." Bill sighed heavily and shut the door, leaning against it. "How do you feel?"

"I'm _fine_," Ginny said impatiently. "Just as fine as I've been for weeks now. Tell me what's going on. What's wrong with Charlie?"

Bill waited a long moment before speaking, his head tilted back against the door. "He was badly injured by a dragon during the battle at the Ministry," he said finally. "It was touch and go for a long time, but he's been improving in the last few days. They...well, they think he'll pull through."

"But they're not sure," Ginny said.

"No."

She went to her bed and sat down slowly, feeling as though she'd been hit in the chest. Charlie...fit, active Charlie who loved dragons, loved being in the out-of-doors, loved Quidditch and gardening and even clearing snow. Bill came to sit down next to her and put one arm gently around her shoulders.

"We didn't want to tell you yet, because no one was sure how the news would affect you," he said softly. "Charlie wasn't the only one who was seriously ill."

Ginny nodded. She could half-feel his distress, a tiny echo of her own pain in the back of her head. Bill had been closest to Charlie and it had to be hurting him more than anyone. And he'd never let it show. Weeks and weeks of spending hours with her, knowing what he'd known about Charlie, and he'd never let on.

"Here, now, don't cry," Bill said. "I know it sounds bad, but he is doing better. He'll pull through."

"You just finished saying you didn't know," Ginny muttered. She bit back a sob and wiped at her cheeks, hating herself for this new tendency to dissolve into tears at the slightest thing.

"Maybe you ought to lie down," Bill said gently. Ginny nodded helplessly and let him help her back into bed.

"I might as well," she sniffled. "Since it's all I'm good for lately."

"Oh, I don't know. You play a mean hand of poker." Bill poked her and smiled. "You can beat Charlie at it when he comes home."

Ginny tried to smile, if only because he wanted her to. "We'll team up and win all the Chocolate Frog cards I've lost to you this summer."

"And I might even let you." Bill chuckled, and winked. "Rest up, and I won't tell Mum."

Ginny nodded and obediently closed her eyes, listening to the familiar sound of her door latching behind Bill as he made his way back downstairs.

*

"Hey, Gin, you want anything from Diagon Alley? I'm going that way this afternoon, thought I'd ask."

Ron banged the door shut behind him as he came out on the porch and flopped down beside Ginny on the bench she'd taken over as a reading spot.

"Can't think of anything," she replied, setting her book down. "Why are you going up there, anyway? I didn't think you were back at work already."

Ron shook his head. "Not work. Not exactly, anyway. Harry's giving notice today, and I was going to have a talk with Kingsley about maybe doing the same thing."

"You're giving notice? I thought you liked being an Auror," Ginny said in surprise. "What changed your mind?"

"Well, Harry's been wanting to," Ron said. "And really, the only reason we joined was to help him. Because of the war and all." He looked at her sideways, as if judging the effect of the words on her. Ginny suppressed a sigh and he continued, "Hermione wants to go into research, and Harry's been talking about trying out for Quidditch."

"What about you?"

"I dunno. I thought I might try out for the Unspeakables, actually. They're tough to get into, but we worked with a few during the war, and it was bloody interesting stuff. Don't know if they'd take me, but I can ask. If not...," Ron shrugged. "I'll either keep on as an Auror, or go try out for a team with Harry." He grinned at her. "Don't tell Mum, though. She'll skin me alive."

"It'd be a refreshing change, not having her mad at me," Ginny said. Ron stiffened beside her, and she heaved a sigh. They'd managed to avoid the topic of Draco for almost a week, though Ginny was sure he'd wanted to bring it up.

"She's got bloody good reason to be mad at you!" Ron began. "I still can't believe you'd actually want to get involved with _Malfoy_, of all people!"

"Oh, don't _even_," Ginny snapped. "You don't know the first thing about it, and you don't need to come over all outraged whenever he's mentioned!"

"Maybe if he weren't such a slimy little maggot--"

"He is _not slimy_! Don't you call him names!"

Ron inhaled, ready to shout, his face beet red, but the sound of Mum's voice getting nearer made him bite down on whatever he'd been about to say. She peered at them through the porch door.

"You're not upsetting your sister, are you Ron? You know you're not supposed to."

Ron glared at Ginny. "No," he muttered. "I'm not."

Mum nodded and moved away, and Ginny waited until she was out of sight before sticking her tongue out at Ron. He pulled a face and shoved himself up and off the bench, stomping down into the yard. He stopped at the fence and stared out into the field on the other side; she could see his shoulders heaving, as though he were taking a great many deep breaths in an effort to control his temper.

After a minute or two he came back, stopping at the bottom of the stairs to look at her. He was tall enough that they were at eye level, and his deep blue eyes were clouded.

"I'm not trying to upset you," he said stiffly, "but everything you've said about him doesn't fit with what we _know_ he's like. I know you think he's changed, but you can't _know_, really. And I don't want to see you get hurt."

"I won't get hurt. And even if I were, you can't protect me," Ginny replied. "You all want to think that you're trying to help, and you aren't. You can't box me up claiming it's only to do me good. I won't live like that. Draco isn't going to hurt me, any more or less than anyone else will, no matter what you think."

Ron looked away, heaving a sigh. "Maybe we can't protect you, Gin, but you can't blame us for trying."

"Yes I can," she muttered sullenly.

"Gin_-ny_," he huffed. "I don't see why you've got to be so bloody difficult."

"I don't see why you've got to be so bloody pig-headed."

"He's a prat!"

"So are you!"

Ron gaped at her in outrage, then spun around and stomped back to the fence. This time he kicked a fence post several times. After a few minutes, he turned and came back to the porch, still red in the face, but in control of his temper again. "Just tell me exactly what's been going on, all right?"

"Why should I?" Ginny muttered. "You're only going to get mad again."

Ron bit his lip and looked away. "All right," he said after a moment. "I promise I won't get mad. But he's said some things, and it's bloody frustrating to hear about stuff from _him_ that I ought to have heard from _you_. Can't stand it, having _him_  
pretending to know more about my own sister than I do."

"What sorts of things has he said?"

"That he'd _shagged_ you, for one. That this has been going on for over a year, if not longer," Ron said. He climbed the stairs and sat down beside her on the bench, slouching back with his long legs splayed out in front of him. "Which is a bloody fine thing to find out from _him_, let me tell you." He cast her a sidelong glance. "Is it true?"

"Yeah," Ginny admitted. "Well, sort of, anyway."

She took a deep breath and began the story, starting with her first encounter with Draco in her fifth year, all the way up to the end of the war. He glowered at his feet as she talked, occasionally making outraged noises but not interrupting her story. She decided to leave out a lot of things, sensing Ron wasn't really ready to hear about the more intimate side of her relationship with Draco. It was almost a relief to be able to share it with Ron--she'd told Zoë, of course, but sharing this with a friend, no matter how close, wasn't the same as telling her brother.

"I still can't believe it.," Ron said after she'd finished. "Draco _Malfoy_. He's such a jerk!"

"I know, Ron," she said. "Believe me, I know he has faults better than anyone. But he's changed a lot in just the past year, and I care about him."

"_Care_ about him," Ron muttered. "You _care_ about an enormous bloody wanker. What was wrong with Harry, that's what I'd like to know. What's Malfoy got that Harry hasn't?"

"There's nothing wrong with Harry. I never _said_ there was anything wrong with Harry, except that I already have a boyfriend. And I don't see how it's any of your business, anyway," she said, exasperated.

"Oh, no, it wouldn't be my business. I'm just your _brother_. I've _obviously_ got no reason to be interested in your welfare. Why should I worry that you've pulled a great ferrety git who'll only treat you like dirt and probably leave you heartbroken?" Ron said. "Why should I mind that my only sister has decided to throw herself away on a worthless prat?"

"Would you shut up? I'm fine, Draco's not evil, and I am not 'throwing myself away', so you can stop worrying like a ninny. Besides, I told him he had to be nice to you but that if you weren't civil to _him_ that he could hex you if he wanted." Ginny folded her arms and resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at Ron. "So there."

Ron grunted, still scowling. "Malfoy wears that sweater Mum knit for Christmas," he said finally.

"He _does_?" Ginny, raised her eyebrows, turning to stare at him. "How do you know?"

"Me and Hermione and Harry ran into him before we came home. He had it on." Ron paused for a moment, frowning out at the yard. "He looked like a ponce."

Ginny grinned, imagining what Draco must look like. She'd known when she sent it that it'd be miles too big for him, and she hadn't thought he'd _ever_ wear it. Ron stared at her, his eyebrows raised. "What?" she said defensively.

"I can't believe you're grinning about that."

"Well, I didn't think he'd wear it. He's awfully picky about appearances," Ginny said. "Aren't I allowed to grin about it if I want to?"

Ron shook his head in amazement. "If you want. I don't see the humour myself," he said finally. "But you do look happy, Merlin knows why." He stood up and leaned over to kiss her lightly on the forehead. "Freak."

Ginny laughed and pushed him away. "Oh, sod off."

"Hey!" Ron backed out of range. "Be nice, now! Or I won't bring you back any sweets."

"You weren't going to anyway," Ginny snorted.

Ron did stick his tongue out at her. "Shows what you know," he said, but he grinned back at her before disappearing back into the house.

*

Mum had scheduled a second appointment for Ginny in the middle of August, and after a great deal of pleading Ginny managed to convince her to let her go alone. After a barrage of instructions and strident warnings about not doing anything foolish, Ginny Flooed directly to the Hospital wing, into the small ante-room outside the main ward.

Madam Pomfrey was waiting for her, and ushered her into an examination room.

"So," she said, "how are you feeling? Still having head pain?"

"Not really," Ginny replied. "I haven't had a headache in ages. Not like the ones I had at first."

"No odd dreams? Feeling like you're experiencing emotions that don't belong to you?"

Ginny shook her head solemnly.

Madam Pomfrey poked her in the chest with her wand, muttering spells under her breath. "Well, you look healthy, and most of the damage seems to have cleared up. I'd say you can go about your normal business from now on, and just keep those potions we sent to you on hand in case you experience any more symptoms. And if anything odd happens...you start having strange dreams, or having moods that don't seem like they're yours, or your headaches come back, see me straightaway."

"I will," Ginny said, and Madam Pomfrey allowed her to hop down from the examining table. "Um, can I ask a question?"

"Of course, dear," Madam Pomfrey replied. "That's what I'm here for."

"Um, about...about sex. Would it be...I mean to say...is it all right?" Ginny asked, cheeks burning. "Can I...er. Not that I am, I mean, but if I were going to, would it be okay?"

Madam Pomfrey shot her an unreadable glance. "Well now, I suppose the same instructions would apply. Stop if you feel any discomfort or start getting any of your previous symptoms. None of the potions you've been using would interfere with a contraceptive. So long as you are taking precautions, it should be fine."

"Thank you," Ginny said meekly, straightening her robes.

Madam Pomfrey saw her out of the hospital wing, and Ginny immediately took herself down to the dungeons. Draco wasn't in Snape's workroom--though strictly speaking, it was his now--or in the office. She huffed impatiently and made her way toward the stairs down to his room.

Draco was in the hall, she saw as she came down the stairs. He was walking toward her, head down, a stack of folders tucked under one arm. She grinned and cleared her throat to make him look up. He started in surprise and grinned when he saw her, hurrying his steps. She hugged him and lifted her face so he could drop a quick kiss on her mouth when he reached her.

"What brings you here?" he asked. "I thought you were still stuck at home."

"I had an appointment," Ginny replied. "Was seeing Madam Pomfrey for a check-up."

Draco lifted his eyebrows. "And?"

"And she gave me a clean bill of health," Ginny said. "She says I'm fine, and that it's business as usual. Can't wait to tell Mum."

Draco smiled again and gave her a hard hug. "Well I'm happy to hear it too."

"You should be, since you get to benefit directly," Ginny laughed. "I asked her about sex, and she said it'd be fine."

Draco went very still against her, and his eyes darkened. "Did she really," he murmured. Before Ginny had a chance to respond he began tugging her down the hall to his room. She went without resisting, her fingers tightly interlaced with his.

He pulled her inside and shut the door. His eyes swept over her intently as he turned, leaning back against the heavy wood.

Ginny smiled and raised a hand in invitation. He pushed off the door and took it, pulling her against his chest once more, wrapping his arms around her in a tight hug. She relaxed into him for a moment, savouring the solid weight of his body against hers.

"I missed you," she whispered against his neck.

Draco drew back and kissed her, a slow, achingly sweet kiss that left her breathless and weak-kneed. "I missed you too," he murmured against her lips, his hands moving slowly over her back. "God, Ginny..." The rest was lost as he claimed her mouth again, nipping softly at her lip.

Ginny barely noticed as he pulled her slowly backwards, only realizing they'd moved at all when he sank down onto the bed, sliding his hands down her sides. The motion made her feel faint with wanting. She swayed on her feet, grasping at his shoulders for balance.

Draco raised his hands slowly, unfastened the clasp of her traveling cloak and let it slide off her shoulders. He moved on to the buttons on her shirt--she was wearing one of Ron's old ones, and if she'd given it half a thought she would have worn something else. But Draco didn't seem to care about the state of her clothing as he slid the buttons through worn button holes. It was clear that he intended to take his time, and already Ginny was half-mad with anticipation and suppressed want.

"I've thought about this," he whispered huskily. "Every day since I saw you last."

Her shirt followed the cloak to the floor, and Ginny tried not to shiver in the cool dungeon air. Draco made a small noise in his throat and traced her breasts with light fingers, cupping them in his hands. Ginny could barely breathe, her breath hitching with every movement of his hands. She tugged at his robes, her hands clumsy on the buttons until he helped. His robe finally joined hers on the flagstones and he pulled her backwards onto the bed, his mouth finding hers.

Ginny had half-forgotten how _easy_ this was; there was no need for words, their bodies simply fit, like halves of a broken plate laid together for mending. Draco cradled her face in his hands as he entered her, the roil of emotion in his eyes so intense she had to close hers, trembling. For a moment she felt a stab of fear--it was too much, too intense, with no way of knowing if the feelings pouring through her were her own or his or some mix of the two. She could only cling to him and hope, with the part of her mind that wasn't overwhelmed with pleasure, that she hadn't just undone a month and more of recovery.

Afterward Draco shifted to one side and gathered her into his arms, one hand brushing lightly at her hair.

"I'm glad you're here," he murmured, and the satisfaction in his voice made Ginny laugh softly.

"I'm awfully happy to be here," she replied, smiling. She ran a possessive hand over his ribcage, loving the feel of his smooth skin under her hand. "It's been far too long."

"I agree. We definitely ought to do this more often."

Ginny snickered under her breath at that. "You're terrible." She propped herself up on one elbow to look at him, grinning. "So now that we've got _that_ out of the way, how are you?"

"Better now," he said with a smirk. He pulled her down so he could kiss her again, and she rested her head on his shoulder, taking his hand so she could twine her fingers around his. "How have you been?"

"Fine...I finally found out what's happened to Charlie. Had to eavesdrop to do it, but Bill caught me out and just told me the truth. Turns out he's been in the hospital wing," Ginny said. "Though they moved him to St. Mungo's last week...they say he'll make it."

"That's good," Draco murmured. "He'll have to be in top shape so he can get in line with the rest of your family, wanting to kill me."

She snickered. "They don't want to kill you."

"Mmmm." Draco nodded, and Ginny wondered if he was thinking of her father. Who probably _did_ want to kill him, come to that. But thinking of her family reminded her of something she'd wanted to ask.

"Have you...," Ginny began, and paused to consider how to ask what she wanted to know. "Have you heard from your mum yet?"

Draco tensed beside her. He didn't say anything for a long moment, so long Ginny was afraid she'd gone too far. But then he let out a slow breath and shook his head. "No," he said quietly. "I haven't heard anything except what they told me after the war."

"Oh," Ginny said. "Do you think she'll come back?"

"I don't know what to think," he said, staring up at the ceiling. "I thought--after it ended, and I found out she wasn't killed, I thought she'd write at least. I thought she'd be...I don't know. Less inclined to leave me disowned." He laughed hollowly. "But it's been months and I haven't heard anything. From anyone. So who knows. Maybe she hates me too."

"I'm sure she doesn't," Ginny protested. There was a sense of weary defeat behind his words that she didn't like. "Maybe she's just waiting until everything's more settled."

Draco sighed and shook his head, but didn't contradict her. "It's not just her. It's...it doesn't seem real," he said after a moment, his voice so quiet she strained to hear him. "That my father's--gone. That I'll never see him again. Never talk to him again. And the last time we did speak, he was so angry with me, and now I can't ever tell him--" His voice cracked, and Ginny waited silently as his chest heaved. After a moment he collected himself and went on. "Everyone is so glad he's dead, and all I can think of is that I failed him. That he wanted me to be something, and I couldn't do it, and I'll never get the chance to tell him that I'm sorry."

Ginny stared at his profile, at the moisture that collected on his pale lashes and left small tracks across his temple, disappearing into his hair. There was nothing she could say, and she knew it. She was _glad_ Draco hadn't become what his father wanted, but that wasn't what he needed to hear.

She settled for moving closer and aligning her body against his, trying to comfort him without words. He tensed, but after a moment he relaxed against her with a heavy sigh. "Sorry," he muttered, scrubbing at his face with one hand. "I didn't mean to go all pathetic."

"You're not pathetic," Ginny protested. "I think you're being very brave."

"_Brave_," Draco snorted. "No wonder everyone thinks you're cracked. Because you _are_."

Ginny poked him in the ribs. "I am not!"

"Yes you are."

"No, I'm not!"

Draco snickered and rolled, flipping her over and pinning her to the bed with his body. "You," he said, a smirk crooking his lips, "are cracked. Which explains so much about you, really."

He leaned down before Ginny could protest and kissed her. He might have meant it as something light, but they had been too long apart and Ginny couldn't fight against the desire that coursed through her, pooling in her belly and crackling everywhere their bodies touched. She snaked one arm around his waist and pulled him down on top of her, running one hand across the smooth skin of his back, feeling the long muscles flex as he moved.

Draco raised his head again, breaking the kiss. "I don't know if we should--"

"Yes," Ginny interrupted, "we should." She pushed at his shoulders to roll him over and swung one leg over his hips, shifting so that she could lower herself onto him, letting her eyes drift closed as she did so. She heard him groan softly and felt his hands curl over her hips, his long fingers biting into her skin. She rocked against him slowly, eliciting another groan, wanting to make it last as long as possible. Her movements didn't stay slow; before long a familiar urgency took over her and she sped her movements, bringing them both to the brink and over.

They dozed together for several minutes before Ginny took notice of the angle of light in the room and realized how late it must be.

"I should go," she whispered, pushing herself off Draco's chest and sitting up. "Mum's going to _kill_ me."

Draco nodded and slid out of bed after her, pulling his own robes back over his head before coming to help her into her robes reluctantly. He smoothed the fabric over her shoulders with a frown of concentration. "Do you think your family will let you come back?" he asked.

"Well, they can't keep me shut up forever," Ginny said. "And I'm not a child. I can do what I like, and if that means coming up here to visit my boyfriend, there's not much they can do about it."

Draco nodded, still frowning.

"What?" Ginny asked. She had a brief moment of panic that he'd changed his mind, or that she'd offended him by calling him her boyfriend. But Draco only shook his head.

"It's nothing," he said quickly. "Just that...if your family is against this..." He shrugged one shoulder. "I don't want you to be at odds with them. Over me, I mean."

"They'll come around," Ginny said, trying to sound confident. She was sure they would. Dad couldn't very well stay angry at her forever. She slid her arms around his waist and leaned her head against his shoulder. "I wouldn't just give up on you, you know."

Draco hugged her so tight she could feel her ribs creak, then let her go. He raised one hand to cup her cheek, pausing as if he was choosing words. But he only smiled. "I'll see you soon," he said softly.

Ginny nodded and reached up to kiss him one last time before she left for home.

~*~

Barely two weeks into the new term, Draco found he had his hands full dealing with classes and students. He was still leaning heavily on Snape's old lesson plans and notes for teaching, and it was still the nerve-wracking experience it had been the first time he'd done it, but at least he didn't have the threat of immanent death hanging over him this semester. He could leave the castle, go flying, meet his girlfriend in Hogsmeade on the weekends for drinks amid good-natured teasing from the staff...all in all, it was a vast improvement.

Draco allowed himself a smug grin as he contemplated the thought. Ginny was going to be up in the afternoon, and he had the morning to prep for his Monday classes.

He glanced up as the door opened, and raised his eyebrows as Ginny entered, dressed in light blue robes.

"Hello," he said in surprise. "I thought you weren't coming down 'til this afternoon."

Ginny shrugged, dropping her handbag down on a nearby table. "I wasn't, but I got away early. Why, are you busy today?"

"Not really," Draco said, sweeping the pile of crushed scarab shells into a jar and capping it. "Just prepping ingredients for next week's classes. You're welcome to help, if you want." He waved a hand toward the stool on the other side of the workbench.

Ginny moved closer to the bench and peered into the bowl of newt ears sitting at the edge of the table, but didn't sit. Draco hadn't really expected her to--she'd never really enjoyed Potions. He picked up a few daisy roots and began dicing them carefully.

"Actually I have a question for you," Ginny said after a moment, her voice edged. "I was going to look at flats today, and I wanted to know if you would come with me if you're not busy. I was going to ask Zoë, but out of anyone, you'll probably spend the most time there, so it makes more sense for you to come."

Draco looked up from his dicing and looked at her a little more closely. Sure enough, she was wearing a determined expression, but under the determination was a wealth of barely hidden emotion--anger, hurt and frustration, mostly. "Is something wrong?"

"No," she said, a little too abruptly.

Draco raised his eyebrows, and after a moment Ginny huffed angrily.

"Fine. Yes, something is wrong. I'm bloody well going out of my _mind_ is what is wrong." She threw herself down onto the stool and kicked out at the table leg. "My family is driving me mad!"

"What are they doing now?"

"What are they always doing? Treating me like I'm five. I had to lie to Mum when I left today, so she wouldn't know I'm planning to go looking at flats...the last time I mentioned something to her about moving out, she yelled for an hour. But she can't expect me to stay at home forever!" Ginny cried. "I'm not a baby anymore! I have a right to my own life, don't I!"

"Of course you do," Draco replied. "What could she really do if you moved out?"

"Scream her bloody head off, is what she'll do. Dad will continue on with the silent treatment, I'm sure," Ginny said bitterly. Draco suppressed a twinge of guilt; her father wasn't talking to her because of _him_, and although Ginny swore it didn't bother her, he knew it did. "But what else can I do? I don't want to stay, and I'm at my wits' end. I'm not a child!" she said, her voice rising again. "I'm eighteen, and--"

"You're not actually--"

"I _will be_ eighteen in less than a month," she cut in with a scathing glare. Draco shut his mouth. "I'm not so immature I can't look after myself, or make my own decisions! She can't honestly expect me to be a baby forever!" Ginny's hair seemed to blaze with the heat of her anger. "She wants all of us to do exactly what she wants, and mostly what she wants is for all of us to be good little children like Percy and spend all our time writing reports about _cauldron bottoms_! Well I'm not going to! I went to talk to Kingsley Shacklebolt yesterday, and he said I'd be a cracking Auror! I'm going to live my own life, and there's not a thing they can do about it!"

"Er," Draco said, a little dumbfounded. "Good for you?"

"She's been giving me hints since Madam Pomfrey said I was well enough, and between her saying I'd do well to learn to _type_\--as if I'd be willing to sit about and take dictation and fetch _tea_ for some overweight Ministry wanker!--and Fred and George talking about how I should help them out at the shop and Dad barely speaking to me, I'm going to go mad if I have to spend one more minute in that house! So I'm going to do it. Look at flats today, and I applied for Auror training yesterday, and got in." Ginny paused, and some of the fire seemed to go out of her. "I start next week. Um. Which I probably should have mentioned first. I've got a job."

"Congratulations," Draco said solemnly. "And as an Auror, no less. They're very picky. Good for you."

Ginny stared at him suspiciously for a moment. "You aren't going to yell?"

"Do you want me to?" he asked. "I could, if you like."

"Well no, it's just...I expected you to be more..." she waved her hand about in front of her. "Upset. Angry. More yelling about me picking a dangerous career and less _laughing at me, you prat!_"

She leapt off the stool, flew around the table, and smacked him on the shoulder, hard. Draco grabbed at her hands, snickering helplessly as she swore under her breath. He finally managed to pin her arms to her sides and grinned down at her. "I think you'll be a brilliant Auror," he said. "Really. You know more about Defense than anyone I've ever met, and you're good at Potions and Charms...I don't see why you wouldn't do well."

Ginny relaxed into his chest with a disgruntled sigh. "You're not even going to argue with me a little bit?" she asked. "I had all sorts of good come-backs planned out."

"I can if you like." He cleared his throat and schooled his face into a stern expression. "You can't possibly be an Auror! You're too...short. And your hair is too red. And it would be very selfish of you to deprive some poor sod of your as yet nonexistent typing skills. Just think of the disservice you'd be doing to our hard-working Ministry employees."

Ginny giggled and poked him in the side. "Very funny. I expect I'll get all the arguing I want from Mum, anyway." She slumped, her amusement fading. "She's going to be furious with me. Not just because she doesn't want me to move away...she won't be happy about me becoming an Auror, either."

"What brought all this on, by the way? You didn't say anything in your last owl."

"Because I've _had_ it," she said. "I can't take it anymore. Dad keeps talking around me, and Mum keeps treating like I'm a baby, and Ron keeps making noises about how lonely Harry is and wouldn't it be nice if we all got together and went round to the pub, and Hermione making encouraging faces behind his back while he says it, and I can't stand any more of it. I want to be able to do what I want! Not what Ron wants, or Dad wants, or Mum wants, or _anyone_!"

Draco smoothed her hair with a sinking feeling. "Look, if it'd make things easier--"

"Don't even _say_ it," Ginny said sharply. She pulled back and glared at him. "It would _not_ make things easier if we stopped seeing each other. It wouldn't change anything, and it would only make me feel worse than I already do."

"But--"

"But nothing. Mum and Dad are just going to have to accept that I am old enough to make my own decisions, and that this isn't one I'm going to back down on. I don't care if they don't like you. The only opinion that really counts is _mine_, and I--" she bit her lip, and then smiled a sweet, wonderful smile. "I'm not taking you house-hunting for nothing, you know. Now come on, because I made an appointment to view a flat at one, and we're going to be late."

Draco smiled at her, his heart swelling with a strange, floating sense of something that felt like joy. "All right, then," he said, taking her hand and twining his fingers with hers. He wasn't sure which of her statements he was agreeing with; any of them, or all of them, or just her marvelous smile. "Let's go."

~*~

_Let me not to the marriage of true minds  
Admit impediments. Love is not love  
Which alters when it alteration finds,  
Or bends with the remover to remove:  
O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark,  
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;  
It is the star to every wandering bark,  
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.  
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks  
Within his bending sickle's compass come;  
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,  
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.  
If this be error and upon me proved,  
I never writ, nor no man ever loved._

\- Sonnet CXVI, William Shakespeare

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is the Story That Would Not End. I tried, I really did try to finish the epilogue in the month it normally takes me to write a chapter, and it simply would not be written. The chapter above is the result of 3 separate rewrites, which is part of the reason why it's taken so bloody long. And I am never writing another Hogwarts-era fic, ever, ever, ever. Ever. (This means no sequels. So don't ask.)
> 
> Cephalaea means "headache" in Latin. Gastrodia and linden are both herbs that are reputed to be good for headaches. Valerian and skullcap are sleep aides.
> 
> Antaios is an Egyptian god whose name meant "the two falcons" and was probably an early incarnation of the sky-god Horus.
> 
> As always, huge, huge thanks to my beta team: Emily, Banfennid, Mahoney, Beccafran, and Mynuet, without whom this story would not have been finished. I love you guys!


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